The silence hung even after they all took their seats, the kind that made time feel like it had slowed down just enough for discomfort to seep in.
Mark sat at the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees, eyes still glued to Billy.
Billy kept a safe distance on the opposite chair, arms folded loosely, his gaze flickering to Artur beside him before landing back on Mark.
"I'm pretty sure it's you," Mark said finally, his voice low but certain. "Mr. Leo."
Billy didn't flinch. He just stared back, steady but unsure.
Mark pulled out his phone with a slight shake in his hand, tapped a few times, then turned the screen around. "Here—look."
On the screen was a photograph. A man stood under city lights, dressed in black with a confident stance, a wine glass in one hand, mid-laugh. His hair was styled neatly, suit sharp, posture relaxed and bold.
Billy's eyes didn't waver, but something flickered behind them — like he was trying to convince himself the photo wasn't familiar.
