"He reviewed your file," Eamon had said. "He knows about Redwater."
That was the careful phrase everyone used now. Redwater. Notthe breachorthe incidentorwhen you fucked up. Just Redwater, like the man's name could contain everything that had happened after.
"And he still wants me," I'd said.
"He wants someone who understands how systems fail. Someone who won't assume procedures equal safety." Eamon's voice had been level. Matter-of-fact. "He wants you. He knows you're still one of the best threat assessment specialists in the field, and he thinks Redwater was a setup."
Mac, Eamon's partner, famous, retired, and impossible to ignore, turned from the window. "This firm… we built it because we were tired of working for companies that treated protectionlike control. We're rejecting the model of dropping you the second you become inconvenient."
"That doesn't mean I'm not a liability."
"You're not."
"You don't know that."
"I know you aren't careless," Eamon said. "I worked with you. I saw how you moved through spaces and how you thought three steps ahead of everyone else. Careless people don't do that."
One word came to mind, and he didn't have to say it out loud. Trust. I accepted the job.
I needed the money. Standing still was killing me.
"You don't have to have faith in yourself yet," Eamon added. "Just act like you do. Eventually, your brain will catch up."
Two days after I formally took the offer, I was in San Francisco, meeting the full Violet Frequency apparatus as it crossed the Pacific from Seoul. It was the band's first North American tour swing: San Francisco, Vancouver, Portland, LA, San Diego, Seattle, Calgary, and Denver.
The memory faded as I finished walking the venue’s perimeter. When I finally exited the Civic for a break, I couldn't stop thinking about the credential breach. About Kang's implication that it might be a test.
My hotel was in SoMa, a cost-saving measure. My room looked out over Folsom Street, not the San Francisco tourists saw, but the working city underneath.
The room itself was identical to a thousand others I'd stayed in. Two queens, generic art, and curtains that didn't quite block the streetlight. I dropped my bag on the desk and stood in the center of the room.
I'd requested a room on an upper floor. That was an old habit. It provided better sightlines and was harder to breach.
My phone showed three missed calls from an unknown number. All the same number within the last hour. No voicemails left.
I stared at the screen. Debated calling back, but I decided against it. If it were venue security or tour management, they'd leave a message or text.
My phone buzzed in my hand. Text this time. It was from an unknown number.
I opened it. The message was an image. No text. Only a photo.
It took me three seconds to process what I was looking at. Rune and I during the redirect. Someone took it from the wings, and the angle suggested someone positioned near the equipment cases, maybe twenty feet away. The framing was deliberate. My hand was clearly visible on Rune's back, with our bodies close. The precision suggested familiarity with performance photography.
Or surveillance photography.
A second message arrived while I stared at the first.
Unknown:You move fast. Let’s see if you’re fast enough when it’s him who needs you. Tonight. Pay attention.
I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. The room suddenly felt smaller. Exposed. I stood and crossed to the window, checking the sight lines from the building across the street.
I pulled the curtains closed.
This message wasn't about the band. It was about me. About where I'd positioned myself. About four seconds I couldn't account for in a report.
Someone had been watching me specifically. They photographed the one moment when I'd let professional distance slip. When I'd touched Rune longer than tactically necessary.
Kang had been right. This was a test. I’d shown them a weakness I couldn’t afford.
