I dropped his arm like it zapped me and wet my suddenly dry lips. “Do you have antibiotic creams?”
“Yes, Sophia. I’m not an idiot.” How was his voice so controlled when that look on his face was…not?
“Could have fooled me,” I said, “since you’re serving a regime that thinks branding is an appropriate punishment for a mistake.”
Mercifully, he moved his attention to the ceiling. “He lost his daughter. You’d want someone punished if you lost a loved one.”
“Ihavelost loved ones. I’d never brand the people responsible.”
I willed him to look at me again, and he did. Ocean eyes alight, he trapped me in a silent staring contest, one I was determined to win.
Determined, that was, until the corner of his mouth lifted in a twisted smile, and something corkscrewed in my chest.
My gaze dropped to my lap.
Coward.
“We have something in common,” he murmured.
“That’s impossible,” I said, just to be stubborn.
Chuckling, he rose to his feet and extinguished the candles. “Come on. I have something for you.”
I followed him to his communications closet. Inside the small room, with the lamp glowing softly in the corner, he handed me a sheet of paper. The writing flowed freely in dark ink, with a funny little curve to the Ds I found endearing.
“Is this your handwriting?”
“No,” he deadpanned. “I have a scribe.”
Irritated, I flicked a cross expression at him. The smirk was back, and he pointed toward the title of the paper.Jack Miller.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A psychological profile.”
I read through the first few lines. It detailed intimate characteristics of his fellow Blood Colonel—habits, weaknesses, and most intriguingly, his schedule.
“You want us to target him?”
“He was injured yesterday. Fell hard onto asphalt, scraped up his arm pretty bad, jacked his shoulder. He won’t be able to fight the way he normally does.”
I perused the information with a little more interest.
“He’s still vicious, but if you wanted to kill one of us, this is your best chance.”
I leaned against the shelves, continuing to read.
“How good is your memory?” he asked.
“Pretty good, but there’s a lot here. This’ll take me a while.”
“Take your time.” He left the room, and I meandered behind him, scanning each line three times before closing my eyes and trying to recall.
Adaptive charisma. His men are loyal to a fault. Beware they will die for him.
Sleeps little. Often patrols southern parts of the city close to midnight for fun.
Thinks of humans only in terms of utility. Has no one he cares about enough to sacrifice his honor or rank. Do not be fooled by his ‘dedication’ to his men.
