Everything with you

Part 61

Justin

The knock came sharp and quick. Two beats. Then silence.

I didn't wait. I crossed the room and pulled the door open.

Ash stood there, phone to his ear, dressed in that same all-black look that made him blend into every shadow he stepped through. His dark curls were pushed back, a few still falling across his forehead, and his face was all business.

"No," he said into the phone. "If he's circling that territory, pull the plug. Doesn't matter how much he paid—he's testing us."

A pause.

"Yeah. I'll handle it from this end."

He hung up and stepped inside, eyes immediately going to Nate.

Ash cursed under his breath.

"What the hell happened to your face?" he asked.

Nate shrugged, his usual sarcasm worn thin. "Ran into a wall. It hit back."

Ash tilted his head and gave Nate one of those long, unreadable looks. "You look like you got folded by a truck."

"I feel like it too."

Before they could fall into their usual banter, I stepped between them. "Ash, sit."

He looked at me, then at Emma's silhouette in the kitchen, then at the couch. Wordless, he dropped into the armchair Nate had just vacated, fingers steepled. His calm was like a vacuum—pulling in all the chaos without ever letting it show.

I sat opposite him, leaned forward, and told him everything.

What happened at the garage? Henry's ambush. The knife. The threat. Nate getting slammed. The panic in Emma's voice.

Ash didn't speak once. Didn't blink.

When I finished, he leaned back slightly, let out a slow exhale, and said—

"We're going to have to throw the game."

Silence.

I stared at him. Nate sat up straighter, wincing.

"The hell we are," I said.

Ash looked at me like I was the one missing something obvious. "You want to keep Emma and Nate breathing? We throw it."

I stood. "You know what that game means. You know what's on the line."

"Yeah. I also know what Henry's capable of," Ash replied, cool as ever. "You saw what he did when you weren't in his way. Imagine what he'll do when you are."

A quiet clink behind me made me turn.

Emma stood in the kitchen doorway, a wooden spoon still in her hand, her face pale.

"You're talking about throwing the game?" she asked, her voice low. Controlled. But her eyes—they were wide.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words didn't come.

Ash leaned forward again, voice level. "He's not bluffing, Emma. And Justin needs to decide if a trophy's worth more than your life."

The spoon dropped from her hand and clattered on the tile.

I looked at her—really looked. Her breathing was shallow again. She was trying not to break.

I crossed the room to her without thinking.

"We're not doing anything yet," I said quietly, just for her. "Not until we have a plan. Not until we talk."

She nodded, but I could feel it—her shaking. Just under the surface.