Alan's lips trembled, bloodied spit glistening on his chin. He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the side where a man in a tailored black suit had slipped into the room, clipboard in hand, pen poised. The agent didn't look at Alan, his gaze fixed on Trevor, waiting for the nod. When Trevor gave the smallest tilt of his chin, the man began writing. Every word mattered.
"I… I first met with His Eminence six months ago," Alan rasped, his voice hoarse. "He came to me after service, in the chapel vestry. Said he'd heard of my debts. Said he could save me if I cooperated. I thought… I thought it was just small things, observations, notes about schedules, guests…"
Trevor's expression didn't flicker. He leaned back further in the chair, folding his arms, letting the silence eat at Alan until the man's chest stuttered. The agent's pen scratched against paper, crisp in the sterile air.
"Lies," Trevor said finally. "Really, how stupid do you think I am?"
