“This one will.”
A knock interrupted the argument. Three sharp raps. Brevan’s pattern from the tunnels.
I opened the door.
He stood in the corridor, dressed casually but expensively. The kind of outfit that suggested wealth without trying. His gold tracery caught the hallway lighting.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“About?”
“Tools.” He glanced past me into my quarters. “May I come in?”
I stepped aside. He entered, moving immediately to check the door’s security before turning to face me.
Flinx hissed from the table.
“Nice to see you too,” Brevan told him. He pulled a small case from his jacket. “I brought you some items for tonight.”
“What kind of items?”
He opened the case. Inside, three pieces of jewelry. Earrings, a bracelet, and a necklace. All elegant. All expensive-looking. All completely functional if you knew what to look for.
“The earrings are audio disruptors,” he said. “Thirty-second bursts, three uses each. The bracelet has a slicer spike hidden in the clasp. And the necklace is a short-range comm link. Direct to Kallum, encrypted.”
I picked up the earrings. The design was beautiful, small crystals set in platinum. The disruption tech was invisible unless you knew where to look. “These are good work.”
“Varrick’s specialty.” He set the case on my table. “The bracelet’s spike is single-use, but untraceable.”
“And the necklace?”
“Insurance.” He picked it up, the chain pooling in his palm. “If something goes wrong, if we get separated, you can reach Kallum directly. He’ll extract you regardless of whether I make it out.”
I stared at him. “You’re giving me an exit that doesn’t include you.”
“I’m giving you options.” He moved closer. “The plan works best if we stick together. But if it doesn’t, I want you to have a way out.”
Flinx warned.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“Because you’re not my asset. You’re my partner.” He held up the necklace. “May I?”
I should have said no. Instead I turned around and lifted my hair.
He moved behind me. The necklace settled against my collarbones, cool metal on warm skin. His fingers brushed my neck as he worked the clasp. Not the collar. Just below it. The touch was professional, quick, exactly what the task required.
Except he didn’t pull away immediately.
His fingers lingered at the nape of my neck. Just for a second. Just long enough that I felt it.
“There,” he said quietly. “It suits you better than that other one.”
The collar. He meant the collar.
I turned around. He stood close enough that I could see the gold tracery patterns on his throat, the way his red eyes tracked my face, the tension in his jaw that suggested control taking effort.
