The heavy thud of the Rusty Anchor's front door seemed to echo long after Deke had disappeared into the night. Ace remained standing beside the worn bar counter, his grip tightening around the small black recorder, it was still warm from recent use. The weight he felt was heavier than just the plastic device in his hand it was the burden of the damning words it held, chilling proof of everything Silva had feared and more.
Silva leaned heavily against the sticky surface of the bar, his face ghostly pale under the flickering dim lights. Sweat glistened on his forehead, sliding slowly down his temple. With a shaky hand, he wiped at his brow, but his eyes never left Ace, reflecting a turbulent mix of disbelief, fragile hope and the lingering shadows of fear. "You really got him" Silva breathed out, his voice was rough and low, almost like he was trying to convince himself as much as Ace. "Every rotten, filthy word he muttered… it's all there right?"
