Dent

Dent had been alone in the room too long. The silence pressed in, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of the wooden chair digging into his back. Restless, he rose and began pacing, his thoughts circling the implications of being made to wait. His gaze flicked to the closed door—his patience, already frayed, was wearing thin.

At last, the door opened. Thanh stepped inside, shutting it softly behind her.

He watched her closely, noting the subtle shift in her demeanor. She avoided his gaze, her expression taut, though something in her eyes—an almost imperceptible flicker—betrayed unsteady nerves. With measured steps, she crossed the room and gestured toward the wooden chair opposite the leather wingback she claimed for herself.

"Please, Mr. Dent." Her voice was calm, but tension coiled beneath the surface.

Dent lowered himself into the chair, crossing one leg deliberately, his attention unwavering as she settled in. Her fingers laced tightly together—a nervous gesture. She remained silent for a long moment, as if searching for the right words.

"We need to amend our original agreement," she said at last, her tone careful.

"Amend?" Dent's voice sharpened as he shifted in his seat. "Are you telling me you couldn't get the information?"

Thanh met his gaze, her dark eyes unreadable, but he could see her weighing her response.

"I have the information," she said evenly. "But I can't pass it along."

A muscle in Dent's jaw twitched. He leaned forward, disbelief flashing across his face. "I told you how the bosses pay the commissioner. I held up my end." His tone was firm, unyielding.

"I'm aware." A strain laced her voice. "But circumstances have changed." She lifted a steady hand just as Dent opened his mouth. "Please, Mr. Dent. I'm prepared to offer you a favor in exchange."

"A favor?" Dent repeated, his tone edged with mockery. He studied her closely, catching the rare hesitation in her eyes.

She straightened under his scrutiny. "At no additional cost to you, Mr. Dent. I wish to reconcile this. Believe that I deeply regret these circumstances." Her formality did little to placate him.

"Not yet, you don't." His tone turned razor-sharp, a faint smirk curling his lips.

"Here's the favor. I know there are cops frequenting brothels in Little Saigon. I want a bust—everyone. Captains, lieutenants, sergeants."

Thanh held his gaze, her expression unreadable. "That's a bold ask."

"You're in a position to make it happen," Dent countered smoothly. "And you'll throw in one or two of Maroni's men."

Her gaze flickered, the first true crack in her composure. "I can't do that."

"You will." Dent leaned in, his voice darkening. "You broke your word, Thanh. If you're offering a favor, expect to pay for it. When you break your word with me, expect the price to cut deep."

She inhaled slowly, her fingers tightening over the armrests. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, weighing her next words. When she finally spoke, something like admiration threaded through her voice.

"You're as ruthless as they say," she said quietly. "But you should know—by the time you leave here, he'll know too."

Dent's brow furrowed, irritation creeping into his expression. "And who might that be?"

Thanh leaned back, her expression cool. "A man who doesn't dance with devils, Mr. Dent. He hunts them."

A flicker of unease sparked in Dent's chest as he studied her face. The weight of her words settled over the room like an approaching storm.