Chapter 105: Supplies

"Don't." Nacho's voice had gone cold, all pretense of friendliness stripped away. "I know who you are. I know what you did. And I know you're expecting a shipment tomorrow that has nothing to do with general goods."

The color drained from Reeve's face entirely. He stumbled backward, knocking into a shelf and sending a cascade of boxes tumbling to the floor.

"Please. I didn't have a choice. They would have killed me. Would have killed everyone."

"Marcus didn't have a choice either. But he made one anyway."

The name hit Reeve like a physical blow. He sagged against the shelf, his legs barely supporting his weight.

"You know about Marcus."

"I know everything." Nacho leaned forward, planting both hands on the counter. "I know you sold him out to the Consortium. I know his death bought you another year of profits and a bigger commission on your shipments. And I know that every time you look in the mirror, you see the face of the man you helped murder staring back at you."

"Please." Tears were streaming down Reeve's face now, cutting tracks through the grime on his cheeks. "I'll give you anything. Money. Information. Whatever you want."

"I want you to remember this moment. I want you to remember the feeling of standing in front of someone who knows exactly what you are, what you've done, what you deserve." Nacho straightened, letting his tentacles stir beneath his clothes just enough to create shadows that didn't quite behave the way shadows should. "I'm not going to kill you, Reeve. That would be too easy. Instead, you're going to spend the rest of your life wondering when I'm coming back. Every stranger who walks through that door. Every unusual shipment. Every knock in the night. You're going to wonder if this is the day your bill comes due."

Reeve's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

"The shipment tomorrow. What is it?"

"W-weapons. Armor. Supplies for something big. They're moving them north, to the mining complex."

"How many?"

"Three wagons. Maybe twenty guards. They're expecting trouble, but not from inside."

"Good." Nacho scooped up his supplies and stored them in his inventory, watching Reeve flinch at the casual display of impossible power. "One more thing. If you even think about warning anyone that I was here, that we had this conversation, I will know. And when I come back, it won't be for a chat."

He left the store without looking back, the sound of Reeve's sobs following him out into the afternoon sun.

The tavern was quiet when he returned, most of the village still going about its daily business. He climbed the stairs to find Sera sitting alone in the room, the journal open in her lap, her expression troubled.

"Where's Vael?"

"Bathing again. She said the hot water helps with the aches." Sera closed the journal and looked up at him. "You talked to Reeve."

It wasn't a question.

"How did you know?"

"Your face. You've got that look people get when they've done something they're not sure they should be proud of."

Nacho sat down across from her, suddenly tired. "He's the one who sold out Greta's husband. Got him killed to protect his own business."

"And you didn't kill him."

"No."

"But you wanted to."

He thought about it, really thought about the impulse that had surged through him when he'd seen Reeve's face, heard his excuses, felt the cowardice radiating off him like heat from a fire. The old Nacho, the one who'd collected debts for a cartel and never asked questions about what happened to people who couldn't pay, would have snapped his neck without a second thought.

"Maybe. For about half a second." He ran a hand through his hair. "But killing him wouldn't have changed anything. Wouldn't have brought Marcus back or given Greta closure. It just would have made me feel better, and that's not a good enough reason to end someone's life."

Sera was quiet for a long moment, studying him with those pale eyes that seemed to see everything.

"You're changing."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know yet." She set the journal aside and leaned back in her chair. "When I first met you, in that infirmary room, I thought I had you figured out. Another creature of opportunity, using whatever advantages fate had given him to accumulate power without caring about the cost."

"You weren't entirely wrong."

"No. But I wasn't entirely right either." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "The Nacho who walked into Lumen naked and got arrested for public indecency, he would have killed Reeve without hesitation. Would have seen it as necessary, maybe even righteous. But you didn't. Even though you had every reason to, even though no one would have blamed you, you chose mercy."

"I wouldn't call it mercy. More like a different kind of cruelty."

"Maybe. But the fact that you can see the distinction matters." She stood, moving to the window and looking out at the village below. "The Convergence is coming. Whatever the Consortium is planning, we're going to have to stop it. And when we do, there will be moments where killing is the only option. I need to know that when those moments come, you'll be able to make the right choice."

"And what's the right choice?"

"The one that lets you live with yourself afterward."

The door opened behind them, and Vael stepped in, her hair still damp from the bath. She looked better than she had that morning, some color returning to her cheeks, some strength returning to her movements.

"You two look serious. What did I miss?"

"Nacho was just explaining how he psychologically tortured a shopkeeper instead of killing him."

Vael blinked. "I feel like there's context I'm missing."

"There's always context," Nacho said, pushing himself to his feet. "Speaking of which, I got some useful information from our friendly neighborhood informant. The Consortium's moving a shipment north tomorrow. Three wagons, twenty guards, heading for the mining complex."

"That's a lot of security for supplies."