The morning air was cool and still.
Julian stood on the pavement across from Kalian's house with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. Not folded across his chest, not raised in triumph, just resting there, easy and quiet, the way a man stands when he has nothing left to prove.
He had made it the night before. He had laid the evidence carefully, piece by piece, like a man building something that was meant to last. And now all that was left was to watch it hold.
He was not there to gloat.
That was important. Julian had never been built that way. Gloating required a kind of hunger that he simply did not carry inside him. He was there because he needed to see it through to make sure the police showed up, did their job, and did not let the moment slip quietly through their fingers the way things sometimes did when powerful men were involved.
So he watched.
