Wren set his plate aside, leaning back like a man weighing hard truth against the gentleness needed to deliver it.

“Trust me, Isobel,” he said, voice low and sure, “you’re lookin’ at a breakthrough. This same day, years past? He’d be locked down tight — mean as a snake, blind with whiskey, and out to pick a fight with the world. That’s why I near told you to stay away.”

He gave a slow shake of his head, the ghost of a grin at the corner of his mouth.

“But today? Hell, ...