Maxwell's coffee exploded from his lips as he snatched the morning paper from the newsstand bolted to the grey-brick façade. "No fucking way!"
Artemis spun, eyes wide. "Max, what is it?"
"He's dead." Maxwell jabbed a finger at the headline: ETHAN EVERGREEN GUNNED DOWN AT CRUISE PARTY. His voice cracked. "Ethan—my best friend—he's gone."
Artemis swallowed. The chill in the air felt sharper all of a sudden. "Do they know who did it?"
Maxwell's gaze darted across the page. "Police say no leads. No suspects. Means Lolita's stepping up." His jaw tightened.
"Lolita?" Artemis frowned. "You think she's involved?"
Maxwell's jaw clenched. "She's ruthless. I don't trust her."
"But she looked terrified on the cruise," Artemis said. "She thought she might be next."
"You don't know what Lolita's capable of," Maxwell growled. "She plays scared when it suits her."
Artemis hesitated. "Could it be someone angry about the factory layoffs? Ethan cut a lot of jobs…"
"He had no choice," Maxwell snapped. "The factories were bleeding money."
Artemis bit his lip. "Still… hiring a hitman? That's extreme."
Maxwell didn't answer. His eyes stayed locked on the paper, as if it might change if he stared hard enough.
"Let's go inside," Artemis said quietly. "I need a suit for the funeral."
Maxwell nodded, his shoulders hunched under the morning sun. They stepped into the Royal Mall, the weight of Ethan's death pressing down like fog—thick, inescapable, and full of shadows.