Page 42 of Fate, Interrupted

I stop at the loading platform and look up at them.

Up close, the details resolve. They’re all built solidly—dense rather than large. Their attention sharpening in small increments, focused without aggression.

One of them steps forward.

“You lost?” The question is conversational, genuinely curious rather than dismissive, but my face warms slightly anyway because the answer to you lost is supposed to be yes and mine isn’t.

“No,” I say. “I’m looking for someone.”

“That so?” His gaze flicks briefly to my car and back. “The front office is on the side. You make a habit of walking onto loading docks looking for people?”

“Only when necessary,” I say.

The man beside him lets out a short laugh. “Give her a second, Matt.”

“I’m asking reasonable questions,” Matt says mildly.

The second man leans one shoulder against the dock railing and studies me with the open curiosity of someone who finds this development genuinely interesting. “Who are you looking for?”

Matt straightens slightly. The man at the railing looks at him, then back at me. Even one of the men farther down the dock glances over.

“Silas Coulter,” I say.

That hits differently than the rest of the conversation has. It’s subtle. A small straightening from the man at the railing, a change in Matt’s expression I can’t quite read, a stilling in the background activity I feel more than see.

“Silas,” Matt repeats.

“Yes.”

“You got business with him?”

“Something like that.”

The second man tilts his head. “Customer?”

“No.”

“Supplier?”

“No.”

Matt folds his arms. “Friend of the family?”

I consider that for a half second longer than I should. “I’m not sure that’s the right word.”

They exchange a look, the quick loaded kind that passes between people who share a context I don’t have access to.

“Well,” the second man says slowly, “now you’ve made us curious.” He gestures vaguely toward the open warehouse. “Not exactly a common occurrence, someone like you showing up asking for Silas by name.”

“Is that a problem?” I ask. “You know, someone like me showing up?”

The back of my neck prickles. I’m not afraid, but I am very aware that I’m the only human standing on this loading dock and everyone else knows it.

“Depends,” Matt says.

“On what?”

“On who’s asking.”