Foreigner

Chapter 39: Hell Froze Over

Christian's POV

Present
7:02 PM - Equipment Shed, Near the Stadium

"What did you tell Lukas?"

Dean doesn't answer.

He sits against the metal pole on the cold floor, arms zip-tied behind it. His legs are stretched out, heavy boots dusted with packed snow that's already starting to melt into the concrete floor. His head tilts lazily to the side, dark knit hat pushed back far enough that a cut above his temple is still visible. The blood there has dried. The split on his lip hasn't.

I stay seated on a pile storage boxes across from him, near the doors. The shed is cold but out of the wind, insulated just enough to muffle the outside world. Snow hits the roof in steady waves. The overhead bulb buzzes quietly.

Dean shifts his shoulders once, testing the ties. He doesn't strain against them. Just moves like he's curious.

"Didn't know you still had it in you," he says after a long moment. Voice low. Measured. "Hitting me clean. Dragging me in here. Zip ties — that's new."

"I've been watching you for days," I reply casually.

"I figured."

I nod once, not interested.

His mouth lifts, not a smile. "You're faster than I remember."

"You're slower than you were."

He laughs once, just air. "Complacency after you left. No one to keep me on my toes. Or maybe I just didn't expect it from you. You always liked directness, not ambush."

"It wasn't an ambush. I gave you plenty of chances to turn around."

"And you didn't say a word."

I don't answer that.

He watches me. Not squinting. Just observing, like I'm a specimen he hasn't seen in a while. His jaw is swollen already. I didn't hit him there more than once. That's all it took.

"So," I repeat, more level now. "What did you tell Lukas?"

Dean shrugs. The movement shifts his weight slightly against the pole, but he doesn't wince. "Nothing new."

"Try again."

He exhales slowly. "You're calm for someone who's keeping me here without a plan."

"I have a plan, don't worry."

"Does it involve punching answers out of me?"

"If it has to."

He looks around the shed, eyes drifting to the doors, then to the shelves of folded mats and old sports uniforms. "And here I thought this place was just for spare basketballs."

I don't speak. I let the silence stretch.

Eventually, he settles. His body relaxes like he's accepted that this might take a while.

"Lukas was never supposed to be part of this," I say.

Dean glances over, his voice dry. "You said the same thing about Charlie."

I look straight at him. "Lukas isn't Charlie."

"No," he agrees. "But both of them still got involved."

I don't respond to that either.

Dean shifts again, leaning back a little more. "You've changed," he says, like he's stating a fact. "More focused. You used to get rattled."

I don't say a word, just continue staring at him.

He stretches his neck once. "You're doing this for him?"