His eyes slid across the papers, settling on a specific name scrawled across them in hastily written handwriting, circled and underlined in foreboding red. He knew the name. It wasn’t his.

The other man, taller and wearing a dripping snarling smile, tapped the papers with a hand covered in heavy bejeweled rings. The suit he wore was thick with excess wealth but offputting and awkwardly fitting, slightly too big or too small in certain areas.

It clung to his ever so slightly above average build as he spoke. “Look, we both know why I called you here, Adrel. Let’s not pretend we’re here for book club.”

Adrel startled, eyes flickering between the black-haired suited man and the pages laid out on the old wooden coffee table. “Max, I-“ Adrel stuttered despite himself. “I- Book club?” He scoffed. “Even I can tell it’s not the time for that.”

“Hard to say with you,” Max grinned, almost seeming proud of how much he had made the other man squirm. He knew this had to be uncomfortable for him.

And Adrel was definitely squirming. He fiddled with his hands and tugged the sleeves of his yellow sweater down further as if to hide himself, fluffy blond waves quivering atop his head.

“I had no choice but to come to YOU, Adrel. You know him better than I do. Better than ANYONE does.” Max pulled a photo out from beneath his papers, revealing a man with sunken eyes and a smile that didn’t quite reach them. A man to match the name.

“You don’t understand, Max, he would NEVER-“ Adrel jumped forward, palm hitting table hard as he started his exclamation.

“That’s not just what he wants you to think?” Max sat back, leather couch bending around him as Adrel laughed like that was the most preposterous thing he had ever heard.

“You think that man could really fool ME? You know me better than that, don’t you? I believe I know enough to tell truth from fiction, Mr. Detective.” Despite Adrel’s confident words, his foot tapped quickly and nervously, although it’s sound was softened against a rich carpet flooring.

Max glanced down and smiled. There was another picture buried under his papers of guesswork and detailed research. One that took him far too long to find.

He slid it out as Adrel watched, sliding it parallel to the last picture. Unlike the last photo, there was no person within the frame. Just a small pocket knife, no more than a few inches.

What could at first be mistaken for rust covered the blade, but its shiny new handle quickly debunked that suspicion. And engraved on the knife was a name, only four letters, clear as day.

Adrel stilled. “He… he wouldn’t…”

Max paused, letting him take in the two photos, before sitting forward in his seat, his eyes locking with the nervous blond. He tapped his ringed fingers on the table, impatient.

“Tell me more about Owen, Adrel.”