Now, at forty-three, Marcus lived in a studio apartment above a laundromat. He woke at 4 AM to the smell of bleach and shame. He was a weapon without a wielder.

He touched the cold metal. 10:03 PM.

After six months, Lior sat Marcus down. No ceremony. Just two cups of bad coffee.

For one terrifying second, Marcus reverted to the old self. The security contractor. He wanted to windmill punch. He wanted to run.