Alfie stammered. "I—I…" But no firm answer came.
Greg's voice lowered again, not cold, but cutting. "Besides… I didn't kill the main target, neither the collaterals. I killed the remaining thug who killed them."
"Still…!" Alfie's voice cracked with disbelief, eyes wide in horror.
Greg tilted his head, gaze sharp and unreadable. "Why do you suddenly care, huh?" he asked quietly, yet his words cut deep. "Shouldn't this make you happy? After all… Mr. Ryley's about to receive a devastating piece of news."
Alfie froze.
His breath caught in his throat, and he looked away—unable, or perhaps unwilling, to meet Greg's eyes. The silence pressed against his chest, too heavy to shake off.
He stood, though his legs felt stiff, body moving before his mind could follow.
"I… I just think you should be more careful," he muttered, his voice small and uneven. "Anyway… thanks for earlier."
And with that, he turned—quickly, almost as if fleeing something far more dangerous than blood or treason.
