Page 236 of Fractured Loyalties
Dock Nine sits under the expressway. The river drags past, brown and patient. Containers stack like tombs. Wind ships grit into my face when I step out. The air tastes like rust and oil.
Kinley waits by a yellow bollard in a dark hoodie and cap. Hands empty. Shoulders square. He looks exactly like loyalty until you learn the language of tells.
“Elias,” he says.
I stop five paces away. “You chose a poor place to confess.”
“I didn’t confess.” He lifts both hands. “I came because you asked.”
Odd choice of words.
“You have one chance to make a sound I believe,” I say. “Use it.”
His mouth tightens. His eyes flick past my left shoulder, to nothing. Bad habit. Men check exits when their lies thin out.
“I didn’t give them Mara,” he says. “I gave them you.”
Behind my ribs, something old and violent stretches. “Explain.”
“Vale’s people reached out after the Volker facility hit. They said you were in their way and that they could make a mess if they wanted. They wanted dates. Times. Patterns. Nothing that touched her. Just you.”
“You don’t get to claim that like it’s mercy.”
He swallows. “I did it so they’d keep distance from the clinic. From her. I didn’t sell locations. Only lagged intel. Two hours old. Dead by the time they read it.”
“You wrote ‘window,’ Kinley.” I say the word like a knife. “That is not old. That is an invitation.”
He flinches. “It was supposed to scare you off. To make you change pattern.”
I take two steps in, close enough to see the shave burn along his jaw. “You tried to manage me.”
“I tried to protect her,” he snaps. The mask cracks. “You act like you own the only right way to keep someone breathing. I did the math. I kept it tidy. I—”
“You fed a man who wants her.”
“Better me than someone you don’t control,” he says, desperate now. “I could shape it. I could dull it.”
“You can’t dull a knife with a paper map,” I say. “You can only cut the wrong thing first.”
His throat works. He looks smaller. The wind slams the flag on the far crane into a wild rattle. Somewhere, a container door thuds.
“Who else?” I ask. “Names.”
“No one.”
“You’re not smart enough to be alone in this.”
“Lydia,” he blurts, and then curses himself for it. “She saw some of the messages. She didn’t stop me.”
I file the lie where it belongs. In the trash. “Try again.”
He sags. He licks his lips. “Vale asked for proof you wouldn’t change your guard pattern. He sent two testers in the Civic. You took the bait. That was the only confirmation he wanted. I gave them nothing else. I swear it.”
He’s pleading now. It doesn’t suit him. Kinley has always been a man who follows lines. He is not built to argue for his life.
“Where is Vale?” I ask.
Kinley’s jaw moves three times before sound comes out. “Union Mill. Top floor. Private office in the freight tower. Four men inside. Two in the service corridor. Elevator needs a key. His.”
