The Château feels colder tonight. Or maybe it’s just him.

JJ leans back in his chair, absentmindedly spinning a silver ring around his finger. His other hand grips the bottle resting against his thigh, whiskey sloshing quietly inside. The alcohol doesn't even burn his throat anymore.

Funny, isn't it? He should be angry. Punching walls, breaking shit, picking a fight just to let the frustration out. That’s what he does. That’s who he is. But this? This hits different.

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. How the hell did he not see it sooner?

The weird, random disappearances. The dodged questions. The way she always seemed a little too interested whenever they talked about the gold.

JJ clenches his jaw, thumb tapping absently against the glass. He thought she was different. He felt different around her. And maybe that’s what pisses him off the most. He actually believed it. Shit. He believed her.

And for what?

So she could run off and spill everything to Rafe? So she could bullshit them just enough to keep them from seeing the truth?

The sound of the front door creaking open makes him go still. His fingers flex against the glass bottle, heartbeat steady, controlled.

He doesn’t look up. Just keeps swirling the whiskey, slow and deliberate. Letting the silence stretch, letting her feel it.

Then, finally, he speaks.

"How long?" His voice is eerily calm. "How long were you planning to use us?"