Page 71 of Crown of Lies

“Quinn, don’t go alone. It’s not safe.”

“I won’t be alone,” I assure him. “I’m taking a few of my people with me. You guys focus on getting that new space locked down. You’re gonna need it.”

He’s silent for a moment. “You sure about this?”

“Positive. We’ve been chasing this lead for weeks. I can’t let it slip away now.”

He sighs, and I can picture him running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fine. But you call for backup the second anything feels off, got it?”

“Got it,” I say, already reaching for my jacket. “I’ll keep you updated.”

I hang up with Nico, feeling an unexpected wave of relief. It’s been a while since they’ve trusted me to handle anything on my own, and it feels good. Like we’re finding our footing again, slowly but surely.

My phone buzzes with a message from Killian.

KILLIAN: Be careful. We’ll catch up as soon as we can.

I nod to myself, typing back a quick message.

ME: Will do.

Then I shoot a text to a few of my most trusted people, asking them to meet me at the shop.

Within twenty minutes, Emmett pulls up, followed closely by a handful of Enigma members. They approach me, and I can see the curiosity in their eyes.

I fill them in quickly, watching their expressions shift from interest to excitement. It feels like old times, before everything got so complicated. Just us, chasing down a lead, ready to face whatever comes our way.

With Emmett staying back to keep an eye on the shop, I take a few of the rest of my crew and head out to a sprawling plot of land on the outskirts of the city. The transition from packed urban housing to peaceful farmland is jarring, and fields stretch out as far as the eye can see, dotted with the occasional barn or silo.

For a moment, all we do is sit and take in the scene. The house in front of us is modest, weathered by years of sun and wind. It’s the kind of place you’d expect to find a retired farmer, not a man with ties to my father’s past.

“You ready for this?” Remy, one of my newer recruits, asks.

I nod, steeling myself. “Let’s do it.”

We approach the house without saying anything at all. The only sound is from the gravel crunching under our boots. I step up and knock on the door, my heart beating so fast I worry for a minute that it might explode. For several long seconds, there’s complete silence. Then the sound of uneven footsteps followed by at least three locks being unlatched.

The door creaks open, revealing a man who looks like he’s been through hell and back. He’s older than I expected, probably a good decade or so older than my dad would be now. An eyepatch covers his left eye, and I notice a slight limp as he shifts his weight.

“What do you need?” His voice is gruff and his good eye lingers on each of us in turn, no doubt sizing us up in case shit hits the fan.

I take a deep breath. “My name is Quinn. I’m looking for Dylan. I believe you knew my father, Jonah Kent.”

The man’s good eye narrows, scanning my face. For a second, I think he might slam the door in our faces. Then recognition seems to dawn

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “You’re the spitting image of him.” He takes a step back and gestures for us to come inside. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in.”

We file into the modest living room. It’s simple, almost spartan, with well-worn furniture and faded curtains.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, clearing some newspapers from the coffee table. “Don’t get many visitors out here.”

I take a seat on the worn couch, and the others find spots around the room. Dylan settles into an armchair across from me, his good eye never leaving my face.

“So, you got out of the game?” I ask, breaking the silence.

He nods, absently rubbing his knee. “Nearly died in a job gone wrong. Figured it was time to bow out while I still could. Been living the quiet life ever since.”

I lean forward, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. “Dylan, I need to ask you about my father. Did he ever mention anything about a secret? Something he was working on or hiding?”

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