Fear and defeat.
Had he just realized there was only one way out of this situation for him? A vicious part of me did a little fistbump.
Good.
Because maybe now—finally—he’d talk.
Ignacio’s lips moved first—barely a twitch, like his mouth was trying to form a word before his brain could catch up. Whatever he tried to say came out as a raw, broken scrape of sound. I didn’t catch it. No one did.
He swallowed. Tried again.
“—fanta.” Barely more than a gasp. Garbled. Wet around the edges.
Voodoo took one slow step closer. Calm. Controlled. Deadly.
“Repeat it,” he ordered, voice soft as a closing door. “Clearly.”
Ignacio’s eyes darted to Sinclair again—unconscious, slumped, completely unaware of the havoc his mere presence had wrought. Breathing shallow, Ignacio shook his head once, sharply, as if trying to refuse the word instead of the instruction.
Voodoo lifted the remote just a fraction.
Ignacio broke.
“Infanta,” he choked out.
The word cracked through the basement like a gunshot.
Bones froze. Alphabet looked up so fast his chair squealed against the floor. Legend’s easy slouch straightened into something sharp.
My stomach gave a sickening twist. I didn’t know the meaning, not exactly, but something in the way Ignacio said it—half terror, half surrender—hit me like a cold hand on the back of my neck.
Voodoo didn’t move. Didn’t react outwardly. But something in the line of his shoulders changed, a subtle tightening, like a string pulled taut.
“Infanta,” Ignacio repeated, quieter now, like saying it too loud might summon whatever nightmare the name belonged to.
“Who is that?” Bones growled, stepping forward, barely leashed violence rolling off him in waves.
Ignacio winced like even the question hurt. “A name,” he whispered. “A title. I don’t—I don’t know which. That’s all I heard.”
“A nickname, then,” Alphabet said, tone clipped, already typing one-handed. His eyes had gone flat in that dangerous, calculating way.
“It’s all I know,” Ignacio insisted quickly, desperately. “I swear. I wasn’t told more. I wasn’t?—”
His voice cracked on the last word. Broke apart like something inside him finally understood he’d already signed his own death sentence.
Voodoo lowered the remote, just slightly. Not a reprieve, not really. More like a pause. A moment to weigh the truth or the lie in Ignacio’s words.
I gripped my hands together, digging my fingers into the flesh of each as if that little bite of pain would keep me grounded and present. The scent of scorched hair lingered, thick and nauseating. My stomach rioted again, and I clenched my teeth until the wave passed.
Infanta.
That was a name given to the female offspring of a monarch, but not an heir. Not quite a princess, yet also a princess. That didn’t make any sense.
Around me, the guys shot each other speaking looks, communicating more with their eyes and expressions than most people did with their words. Some of it, I even understood. Legend hadn’t been here long enough to read Ignacio so he waited for Voodoo’s verdict. Bones wanted verification before they ended him.
AB? His fingers flew over his laptop, always digging for more intelligence. But what was he going to turn on just searchingInfantaunless it was some codename for another black ops program or dangerous operative. What were the chances of that? Really?
I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t let myself feel the flood of dread, fury, or the sick twist of vindication unfurling through me.
