Chapter 18 · Marco's Locked Night Files

I slammed the photo on Marco's desk before he could pretend the morning shift needed his attention.

"Explain this."

He didn't look up. Just kept typing something into the ancient desktop like I wasn't standing there with proof he'd been lying to me for years. The office smelled like burnt coffee and old receipts. The fluorescent light above his desk buzzed.

"Layla." He still didn't look. "You should be resting."

"Don't." I pressed my finger onto the photo, right over the blood-splattered version of him standing next to my mother. "Don't do that thing where you pretend I'm fragile."

His jaw tightened. I watched the muscle jump.

Finally he looked up. His eyes went to the photo. Something crossed his face—not surprise, which would've been normal. More like resignation. Like he'd been waiting for this and hated that it finally arrived.

"Where did you get that?"

"The register spit it out last night." I kept my hand on the desk, leaning forward. Close enough to see the tiny scar above his eyebrow I'd never asked about. "After my dead mother tried to crawl out from under the counter. So yeah, Marco. I'm done with the concerned manager act. Start talking."