“Jesus, Graves. I thought you were done calling me.”
“Miss me?” I say.
“Depends on the mess.”
“Today’s the day I cash in.”
Silence. A lighter. Breath. “You really want to do this now?”
“You owe me, Branson.”
“You’d still have your license if?—”
“I’d be dead if you hadn’t,” I cut in. “So here we are.”
Another drag. Then: “What do you need?”
“Encrypted tracker trace. Subdermal. Seven-frequency architecture.”
A pause. Then, quieter: “You’re serious.”
“Serious as a heart attack. She’s pregnant.”
That lands.
“All right,” he says eventually. “I’m out, officially. But I’ll honour the debt. I’ll need help.”
“Friends or liabilities?”
“Yes.”
He exhales. “Tex is the tech wizard. If he can’t crack it, he’ll know who can. But listen to me – the people I’m calling makeuslook civilised.”
The line goes dead.
I watch my reflection distort in the water. Older. Harder. More committed.
When I turn back, Nightshade is already watching.
“He’s in,” I say. “But he’s bringing others.”
“Trustworthy?” Honey asks.
“No,” I answer. “Useful.”
Nightshade nods once. “Good enough.”
“You understand,” Valentine explains calmly, “that every step from here forward goes against how Seytan intended this to be handled.”
“It might actually work then,” I mutter.
Nightshade turns to him. “Good.”
For the first time, Valentine doesn’t argue.
ABSENCE IS A TOXIN THAT DOESN’T METABOLISE
Bad Dreams (stripped) - Faouzia
