“I have a lead,” he continues.
The way he says it makes the hairs lift on the back of my neck. Calm. Controlled. But not casual. There’s risk laced into it.
“Not ‘we,’ then,” Vale says lazily. “You.”
Rook gives him a brief look. “It came through one of mine.”
Saint raises a brow. “Trustworthy?”
“Yes,” Rook says. Then, with a grudging tilt of his head, “Mostly.”
Vale laughs, obviously delighted with Rook’s squirming.
“Who,” Ash asks quietly.
Rook’s gaze flicks his way. “Anton Ruskin.”
Saint whistles under his breath. “You’re joking.”
I look between them. “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”
Saint answers, voice mild like he’s discussing weather and not organized crime. “He’s ex Syndicate. Logistics. Docks, trucks, customs. Retired himself three years ago and vanished before someone could ‘retire’ him louder. If he’s talking, he’s scared.”
“And men like that,” Vale says, drumming his fingers lightly on the wood, “don’t get scared unless something bigger than us is chewing up ground.”
Something flickers in Rook’s eyes. Something ugly. Something old. “He says Damien met with a Syndicate middleman near Canary Wharf three days ago. There was a NATO contractor ID on the table.”
My stomach turns.
“NATO contractor ID,” I repeat softly, like I’m testing the weight of the words on my tongue.
Ash exhales, jaw tight.
Rook nods once. “According to Ruskin, Damien’s sellingortrading something. Or moving something he shouldn’t have access to. And if he’s doing it with Syndicate blessing and foreign contractors in the mix, then we’re past internal rot. We’re inopenbetrayal.”
My pulse is a drumbeat now, steady and hot.
“What does that have to do with me?” I ask.
Rook’s gaze slides to mine. “They listed you as inactive—four weeks of no chatter. You went dark. That changes how he’ll react when he sees you.”
I swallow. Right. Of course, how could I forget.
“So we use you,” Vale says, and it should sound cruel — it doesn’t. It sounds like strategy.
“Careful,” Wraith growls.
Vale flicks him a look. “Not like that. Calm your wolf.”
Wraith bares his teeth, almost-smile, not friendly.
Rook keeps speaking like neither of them exist. “We show him something he can’t ignore and watch how he reacts. His face, his tells, who he calls, who moves. We lift the cover and see what’s rotting underneath… And prepare for the worst.”
I feel Saint’s gaze on me. Assessing. Measuring. “You mean to walk her into it.”
“Yes,” Rook replies, unflinching.
The room ripples, and angry words start spilling from the men.
