“I ran a full scan of the room,” I said. “Volatiles, skin temps, micro-expressions.”
“Which could be caused by pheromones,” Cassia countered.
“No. He was infatuated with her.”
“Like you know what that looks like, though, Nex,” Lung said.
Lung was Therian, allegedly. No registered subtype, no parent species. Quadrant DNA scan returned results markedinconclusiveacross three labs. He had the muscle mass of a predator bred for ambush, digitigrade limbs with raptor articulation, and a tail that moved like it had independent mission parameters. Snout: too short for lupine classification, too long for feline. Skin: coated in a sheeting pelt that shimmered like dead leaves and sloughed just as easily—biological or tactical, unknown. Today he had arrived in sweatpants and nothing else, summoned on short notice and clearly unconcerned about what constituted “appropriate.” He wore clothing when protocols demanded it, otherwise he preferred field operations in nothing but a tactical harness, a bone-conducting mic, and the implicit understanding that no one would stop him.
I was certain, however, that I knew more about relationships than he did.
But explaining how closely I can read the nuances of humanity might invite questions I didn’t intend to answer.
So I let it pass. “Operationally, he was protective, not predatory,” is all I said. “Back to the dock.”
Ellum the minotaur tapped on the blunt end of a sawed-off horn. “The girl really had nothing going on up there?”
“Nothing,” Sirena said with a wince. “Just a code.”
I put MIHR-097/BXΔ14.5 back on the wall. It looked as empty as it felt, and Royce heaved another sigh.
“It’s not that I’m not sympathetic. It’s just that I have to protect the MSA’s reputation—and pissing off billionaires who can fund small armies is not a good look. Besides, no one’s invited us into this?—”
“Thorne did,” Sirena countered.
“And is he funding it?”
Quick math. “He has 3.4 million liquid and 8.9 in sellable assets—art, gold, two properties he doesn’t love, one car he does.”
I did not add:I would enjoy spending every cent of it on a very nice grudge and keeping it in a glass case I polish when I’m bored.
“And how long would his funds last against a protracted legal battle for interfering in Voss’s business?”
“Ten weeks at white-shoe burn rates.”
“And the retribution crater past that?” Royce pressed—he wanted numbers.
“Modeled outcomes if we move openly against Demetrius Voss without airtight probable cause: insurance exposure; carrier flags ‘heightened risk’; premiums plus forty-one percent, possible non-renewal; vendor blacklists; venue and security contractors tied to Voss’s network would decline work; leadtimes would triple. Regulatory friction: surprise audits and permit delays would increase by a factor of three; average injunction time to hearing seventeen days. PR degradation: negative-sentiment share would climb to 0.62 in forty-eight hours; headline framing would shift to ‘attack on philanthropy.’ Client churn: eleven to nineteen percent of current clientele in Voss’s circles would disengage ‘for optics.’”
Royce nodded as each of these beats landed. “So.”
“Are you saying we just give up?”
“Local authorities exist for a reason. Nex can pull everything into a file and send it to all of the letter agencies, plus the port authority and the Coast Guard.”
“And what the fuck are they going to do once his yacht reaches international waters?” Sirena asked, then looked around the table.
By Cassia’s temple, Susan’s tongue flickered. The gorgon gave a soft grunt. “We could...make things look accidental.”
“And yachts are in the water, right?” Ellum said, grin going daredevil.
Royce’s nostrils flared wide. “This is why I am in charge and not any of you.”
“But it has been a long time since I visited my mom,” Sirena said, bowing her head deeply, encouraged by the mood shift at the table. “It’s Moon’s Second Swell right now. It’d be rude not to go see her.”
“I don’t know why I’m surprised that there’s different holidays under the ocean, but I am,” Lung muttered, while shifting to scratch his back on his chair, setting tufts of fur flying.
“There are,” Royce said dryly, “but I happen to know that she made that one up.”
