The bar was a forgotten relic — all cracked vinyl booths and watered-down bourbon. It hadn't changed in years. Neither had the man behind the bar.
"Matt," the bartender said, surprised. "Didn't think I'd see you around here again."
"I'm not staying long," Hale replied.
He took a seat in the far corner, facing the door. Old habits. He nursed a drink and waited. The man he was meeting was late — on purpose. Power play.
Then the door opened.
He walked in like he still wore the badge. Clean-cut. Confident. Same leather jacket Hale remembered from back when the job still meant something.
Detective Travis Quinn.
Once, they'd bled on the same pavement. Shared coffee, cases, regrets. Quinn had been Hale's partner during the worst of it. Before it all fell apart.
Now, he worked for Blackstar.
Quinn slid into the booth across from him, expression unreadable.
"Well, shit," he said. "You look like hell."
"Ran into a Cleaner," Hale replied.
Quinn didn't flinch. "Then I guess this meeting's pointless. If they sent him, you're already marked."
"I need answers," Hale said. "About Drexler. Emberlight. About why the hell you're wearing their leash."
Quinn chuckled, low and bitter. "Same reason you took the Moretti case in the first place. Survival. Only difference is, I saw which way the wind was blowing."
"You sold out."
"I adapted."
Hale stared at him. "You were one of the good ones, Quinn."
"Yeah. Until good stopped paying the rent."
He took a sip from Hale's drink, unbothered.
"Look, Matt — I didn't come here to argue. I came to warn you. Whatever you think you're doing, it won't work. Blackstar isn't just a company. It's infrastructure. It's law without the courtroom. They're in the hospitals. The precincts. Hell, even half the city council."
"And you're fine with that?" Hale asked. "With vanishing people for some backroom agenda?"
"I sleep at night," Quinn said. "Because I know what happens if I don't."
He slid a small envelope across the table. "There's a name in there. It'll help you. But it's the last favor I'm doing. Next time we meet? I won't be bringing a warning."
Hale took the envelope and stood. "You're going to have to make peace with the man in the mirror, Quinn. Eventually."
Quinn didn't look back. "Already did. He said you're the one who's doomed."
Back in his apartment, Hale opened the envelope.
One photo. A woman. Mid-40s. Military posture. Cold eyes.
On the back:
"Col. Lucinda Graves – Emberlight Project Lead."
"Last seen – Ravenhill Medical, off books."
Another piece of the puzzle.
But it came at a price.
Quinn had chosen his side.
And next time they met, Hale would have to choose too.