Michael's eyes scanned the room, his jaw set. "I do. And I don't like it. Someone in here knows more than they're letting on."
As we reached a quiet corner, i took a sip of my sparkling water, my thoughts lingering on Vanessa's reach. It was a frustrating reminder that, even surrounded by familiar faces, we couldn't entirely trust anyone. My thoughts were interrupted when i saw a familiar face approaching—a tall, middle-aged man with a warm smile that seemed genuine enough, though i knew better than to judge based on appearances.
"Michael! Isabella!" he greeted us, his tone bright but his eyes carefully watchful. This was Thomas Blackwell, a long-time associate of Michael's. Thomas had always struck me as crafty, and I had often wondered just how deep his loyalty went.
Michael greeted Thomas with a firm handshake. "Thomas, good to see you."
