The door to our new office closes behind Sofia Romano, and the silence that follows feels heavy.
I stare at the photograph she left behind - it showed Vincent's face half-shadowed, but it was unmistakably him. The tattoo on his arm that I had seen a hundred times when he was Tony's head of security. The time when we had trusted him.
"He escaped three months ago." Tony's voice is flat and controlled. "Three months of freedom, and we're just finding out now."
I turned to look at him. Six months of recovery have restored most of his strength, but there's still a slight stiffness in how he moves, a reminder of how close I came to losing him. The bullet that nicked his spine left more than just physical scars.
"We need to call Morrison," I say, reaching for my phone.
"No." Tony's hand covers mine, stopping me. "Not yet. First, we go home and secure a location. Then we figure out our next move."
