Jack took two steps inside and closed the door. Pulse of his blood. He felt unsteady. A sense of sliding on thin ice. The man moved not at all. He didn’t even look up. He might have been taking a nap.

“Where’s my brother?”

The man didn’t answer.

Seconds passed. Jack stood there. The whole room was wavering. A voltage charge in the air. The man, ten feet away. Calm, his hands resting on the shotgun receiver. He seemed undisturbed. As if he didn’t notice Jack at all. Do something, Jack thought. Where is Matty? Where is Matty?

“Where is my brother?”

The man didn’t answer.

Jack stepped back and snapped on the light. He felt off-balance. He didn’t dare to even blink. The shotgun was a Humpback Browning Auto-5. The forearm compact for a fast swing.

“Look at me,” Jack said.

The man lifted his head and gazed at Jack, his eyes blue. A deep scar snaked across his face. And Jack realized who the man was, and he thought: You are going to die.

The room swayed.

“I know you,” Jack said.

Bardem leaned back and watched him.

Solar flares flashed at the edges of Jack’s eyelids. The overhead light glared down. Everything too bright. He could hear his own irregular breath. Underneath the bed, a dog eyed him. Muzzle on paws. It was trembling. Find Matty, get Matty, get him, get him somewhere safe. Figure out a way.

A glass of water sat on the end table. Bardem reached for the glass. He took a sip and set the glass down.

“If you know me,” he said, “then you know you ought to tread lightly.”

“What do you want?”

“You have something that is mine.”

“Where is my brother?”

“That is not the question. It’s the answer.”

Jack stood there, looking into Bardem’s gaze. Stillness: Those eyes were made of it. The stillness of a forest. Of a cat blinking in the night.

“I know your question,” Jack said.

“Oh?”

“Where is the briefcase?”

Bardem cocked his head. “You think you’re very smart. Don’t you? You think you have a cause. Is that why you did all of this? Now look at you. You have lost the thing you care about most.”

Jack put a hand on the wall. The veins in him starting to shiver.

“You know,” Bardem said, “I’m here to help.”

“Help.”

“Yes. Help you see what is most important.”

“I think I can do that myself.”

“Do you, really?”

The dog whined. Jack felt a spasm. Find Matty find him—

“Your situation does not look good,” said Bardem. “Don’t you think?”

“I think I have something you want.”

Bardem leaned forward, resting his chin against his knuckles. “You disappoint me, Jack. I expected more from you.”

“Where’s my brother?”

“He is somewhere cold. He is getting colder.”