"No, sir."
Fitzgerald shook his head. "This is a mistake. He needs oversight."
"He'll have it," Reuben said. "Regular check-ins, as you said. Full compliance with the rules." He looked directly at Simon. "And he takes his full supplement regimen. No skipping doses because he thinks he doesn't need them."
Simon's jaw tightened. He'd been rationing his supplements lately, trying to stretch them out. The Organization provided them free of charge—allegedly vitamin combinations to keep him in peak physical condition.
But Reuben and Simon knew what they really were.
"Fine," Harmon said finally. "Forty-eight hours. Solo. But if you fail, Simon, this case will be out of your hands entirely. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Cross will provide you with updated intelligence," Harmon continued. "And I want those check-ins on time. Not a minute late."
"Is that all?" Simon asked.
Harmon looked like he wanted to say more, but Reuben stepped forward slightly. A subtle intervention.
"That's all," Harmon said. "Cross, brief him on the updated parameters. Fitzgerald, a word."
Simon stood to leave, but Reuben's voice stopped him.
"Simon. My office after you're done with the briefing."
It wasn't a request.
Chapter
Five
Reuben's office occupied a corner of the forty-third floor, earned through two decades of successful hunts before his transition to training and advisory. Unlike the sterile conference rooms, this space had personality. Weapons from different eras were mounted on the walls. A crossbow from the 1800s, silver-lined nets, a collection of stakes in various materials. There were books too, with titles ranging from "The Art of War" to medical journals on hematology.
Reuben closed the door behind them and moved to a cabinet, pulling out an unmarked bottle and two glasses.
"Sit," he said, pouring amber liquid into both glasses. "You look like hell."
Simon sat in the worn leather chair across from Reuben's desk but didn't touch the drink. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Reuben settled into his own chair, studying Simon over the rim of his glass. "When's the last time you took a full dose?"
"This morning."
"Don't lie to me." Reuben's voice stayed calm, but his eyes sharpened. "I can see it in your hands. The tremor. You're rationing again."
It wasn't a question.
"The doses make me slow," Simon said.
Reuben leaned back in his chair, studying him. "Tell me the truth. How long?"
Simon hesitated. His boss would notlikethe truth. "Thirty-six hours ago."
"Christ." Reuben rubbed his face. "And you went after a vampire like that? Do you have any idea how stupid that was?"
"I was in control."
"You think you're in control." Reuben's voice hardened. "Just like Richardson thought he was in control. Just like Keane thought she was in control."
