Ally to its end

I don’t know much about empires.
But I know what they’re built on: fear, silence, and bodies that don’t get back up.

Samuel? He was born into that empire. Silk sheets. Silver spoons.
But somewhere along the way, the boy learned to bite.

He doesn’t throw punches. He doesn’t carry scars.
He passes me the names. The money. Whatever I need.

And I make a mess.

He says it’s justice. That his father’s sins don’t get to stain him if he does this.
Me? I don’t care about his explanation to himself.
I care that he pays on time and never asks me to stop.