“Don’t ‘yeah’ me,” I snap. “He left me a four-line poem and a trauma response. What the hell is he doing?”
“Working,” Arrow says carefully. “With a plan.”
“Knight doesn’tdoplans without self-sacrifice seasoning.”
“That’s… not entirely false.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “Arrow.”
“Lark, breathe.”
“Iambreathing. I’m breathing like a furious dragon.”
A pause. Then Arrow says, “He checked in at midnight. He’s heading to Viktor Luka’s club.”
My blood goes cold.
“The Monarch?”
“Yes.”
The name lands like a punch.
Everyone in Halo City’s underbelly knowsThe Monarch.
Not as a place, exactly. More like a rumor with velvet rope.
A slick, high-end predator pit where seedy money goes to pretend it’s respectable. Where you don’t order drinks so much as you purchase silence.
I stare out the window at the daylight city, like I might see the club from here if I squint hard enough.
“He can’t go there alone,” I say flatly.
“Correct.”
“Then why are you letting him?”
“We’re notlettinghim. We’re managing him.”
“That’s nicer phrasing for ‘he’s doing what he wants.’”
Arrow doesn’t deny it. “He thinks he can get in close enough to confirm whether Luka is aligned with Serafina’s people or if he’s just renting out his guns,” Arrow says. “He also thinks if he rocks the club quietly, he might flush out whoever is running local operations.”
“Quietly?” I echo. “Knight Hayes cannot evenexistquietly when he’s angry.”
“Also correct.”
I close my eyes. My chest is tight in that awful mix of fear and rage and the kind of love that makes you want to hold someone and throttle them simultaneously. “I’m going after him.”
“Negative.” The word is crisp. It’s Arrow’s command voice.
I open my eyes. “Arrow?—”
“Stay put, Lark.”
“He’s my partner.”
“He’s our man on the inside right now. And you are the thing he will burn the world down to protect. If you walk into The Monarch, you give Luka leverage.”
