I tell Snow, my voice as dead serious as I can make it, “I will not be shanghaied into doing cape-work.”
Will. Not.
Snow looks at me with slightly raised eyebrows, like she doesn’t appreciate my theatrics, but to her credit, she doesn't pretend not to know what I'm talking about.
"I understand your reservations, Agent Roth," she says, tone as crisp as a winter morning in Antarctica. "But I believe this situation, considering the scope of OI's plans as well as the accelerated timeline we may be looking at if these details on the drive are correct, is an all-hands-on-deck problem that I will expect every agent to commit themselves to."
I open my mouth to argue in the form of two words that rhyme with “tuck toff,” but Leo diverts my exclamation of refusal by stepping in and speaking first.
"I'm assuming the backup drive's intel didn't include the location of the machine they're going to use to disperse the blue drug?" Leo's brows are pulled together in a deep scowl, a calculating shine to his eyes that reminds me of his aunt.
"It did not," Snow confirms, a displeased crease to her mouth. "But we do know the machine is close to being fully operational." Hence the timeline issue. OI could go ahead with their plan any day with both a working drug and a machine to put it in.
North finally pitches in, leaning his arms on the table and looking around at all of us. "This is why our next step is finding the machine and dismantling it. We can worry about destroying any trace of the drugs once the immediate threat is neutralised."
Leo nods along with this in agreement, as do Dru and Snow. The only person who doesn't is Rohan.
From across the table, we lock eyes. I can see some of the same discontent on his face as I know must be on mine.
"Are you included in this government draft of Liquid Onyx survivors, then?" I ask Rohan acerbically. "You going to be suiting up alongside Barricade and Midnight?"
Rohan's mouth slashes into a sharp grin. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his seat. "Why? You want to gofamilystyle and wear matching outfits?"
There's something in the black pit of his eyes that feels like more than casual goading. The way he said “family” was like a stab from a sword, meant to cause unseen injury to the organ pulsing behind a cage of bone. What I can't tell is if the weapon was meant to pierce my heart or his.
It's bizarre, and I don't understand what he's trying to get at. From the roiling darkness burning intensely out at me from his eyes, I get the feeling I don'twantto understand.
I find myself copying Rohan's body language, shoving back in my chair and crossing my arms in an open show of defensiveness.
"Is this the part where you show me the little doodles you've done in your sketchbook of you and me? I hope they're tasteful." I wrinkle my nose at him, putting on an expression of dismay. "'Cause I've seen some pretty explicit fanart of the other supers online."
Rohan’s mouth purses, and he gives his head a slow shake, exaggerated judgement on his face. "Yeah, see, but you gotta Google that shit to find it, Roth. Is this why it took so long for you to rescue me?" he demands in sarcastic outrage. "Too busy trolling through the ancient bowels of Tumblr and getting off to artistic renderings of Barricade's big dick?"
"Well, now we know what your search history would look like. Does Barricade know you want a go?" I shoot Rohan a mean smile. "Do you want me to pass him a note?"
Rohan, far from getting annoyed like most people would, looks more amused than anything, ready to engage with the extreme mental sport of arseholery. For all his faults, mostly being the son of the man I want to douse in tar and light up with a flamethrower, his one redeeming feature is the fact he's a right prick. That lot don't feel shame; they simply do not deal in that shit, which I can appreciate. It makes me wonder if the shame was gouged out of him with a knife wielded by the same hand that worked on ripping out mine.
Snow cuts in before Rohan can respond to my jibe, which is low-key disappointing. I was looking forward to finding out what his next barb was going to be.
"As invigorating as this little exchange of juvenility is"—Snow gives both Rohan and me a subtly admonishing glare, cold pinpricks rippling along my skin in reaction to it—"can we perhaps return to a more productive line of discussion?"
"What else is there to say?" I challenge her, willing to take my life into my own hands by doing so. "You want to find OI's next big shitstorm and stuff it back in the bottle, fine, fair enough. But I've got other priorities now, and you know that."
Snow is far from stupid. She must be fully aware that my reluctance to get involved with this world-saving mission is about more than just not wanting to make like a super.
Snow lets her cold, contemplative gaze hang on me for long enough it becomes very uncomfortable, which I'd guess is intentional. She's never one to miss the opportunity to throw her adversaries off course with her power of manipulating the combination of social convention and human behavioural cues.
"I'm aware things shifted for you upon the discovery of your brother's survival," Snow says with deliberate carefulness, like she's trying to defuse a bomb with words. "This is not something I expect you to ignore. I would, however, remind you that your first responsibility is to FISA. This is what you agreed to in exchange for the freedoms you have been allowed by our government."
Snow leans towards me as if to create an intimacy connecting us despite the space still between us and the other people in the room. Her expression is unwavering; her resolve to remind me of my place is iron tight. "Agent Roth, if you choose to put your own wants above the needs of this agency, I will rescind the protection you have been afforded thus far. This is the only warning you will receive from me."
Leo is out of his seat beside me before I can even begin to formulate a response. "Anabelle!" he exclaims furiously, slamming his hands down on the table and giving his aunt the most impressive glare I've seen on him to date. It's stunningly ferocious and must pack at least some punch because Snow seems genuinely taken aback by it for a solid half a second.
She collects herself with admirable speed, but the fact she slipped at all is enough to wound and wrong-foot her. "Agent Snow, control yourself," she orders, voice crisp enough to give your eardrums frostbite.
Leo doesn't appear as intimidated as he should be. Or at all. His glare does not budge an inch as he reprimands his aunt in a low voice, "Don't threaten my partner."
Snow loses further ground when she stops using his official title. "Leo, you need to calm down and—"
