Dante
I didn't sleep last night, not even a blink. The city outside my window kept moving like nothing had changed, but inside my head the pieces kept rearranging themselves, refusing to settle into anything clean. I kept seeing the forger's face, the way his one good eye had watered when I pressed too hard, the way his voice cracked when he finally started talking. Some nights the job stays with you like that. This one felt heavier than most.
The forger's name was Marius Delgado, mid-sixties, partially blind in one eye, and lives above an old auto body shop outside Naples. I wasn't sure if he was really the one until I stood in front of him and watched the recognition flicker across his face even though he tried to hide it. I found him just after dusk. The garage smelled of grease, and burnt wires. He didn't recognize me at first. Most people don't, until it's too late.
I didn't wait for permission.
