He was here for the ledger.

The backroom of The Velvet Noose smelled like stale perfume and cheaper regret. Danny Mags knew the skin trade moved slow on the surface — a glance, a nod, a folded bill — but underneath, it ran fast . Faster than blood.

"I look like a man who wants what's in your safe."

She slid a brass key across the table. "Back room. Thirty seconds. After that, you're on your own."

The curtain ripped open as he reached the safe. He didn't look back. He worked fast — because in the skin trade, slow meant you left your own hide behind.

Her laugh was smoke. "That'll cost you more than cash."