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Chapter 24

Owen sits at the table with his head down, fingers twined in his greasy hair, surrounded by plates heavy with grease and scraps. We enter but do not take a seat, and after a second he raises his head to reveal red-rimmed eyes. His skin pocked and red, sallow under the fluorescents. He asks, “What happened?”

Sloan chuckles as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair. “Our former employee wasn’t quite dead yet.”