“No,” Wraith says.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Ash says flatly.
Saint exhales through his nose, like he’s already bracing for the argument.
Vale just smiles wider. “Oh, this is going to besomuch fun.”
I set my glass down very carefully, knowing this is about to be a shit show.
“Everyone breathe,” Rook says, voice still level. “We’re not storming the building guns out. We’re not kicking his teeth in. I said watch,notbleed.”
“You said Canary Wharf,” Wraith bites out. “That’s open. Too many sightlines. Too many places to put a rifle. That’s a kill box, Rook and you bloody well know it.”
Rook’s eyes flick to him. “It is if you walk in blind.”
“I don’t walk blind,” Wraith snaps.
“Enough,” Rook says quietly.
The room answers to that word. Always.
Silence.
I inhale. Exhale. My hands are steady. My heart is not.
“Say it,” I tell him.
His gaze shifts back to me. “Say what.”
“The part you’re not saying,” I answer.
That earns me a flicker of mouth from Vale, like, that’s my girl.
Rook’s eyes narrow — not in anger. In approval.
“You want to be in,” he says. “You said it this morning. You said you’re done waiting for other people to move for you. You asked to standwithus, not behind us. I’m giving you that. I’m giving you what you asked for.”
I feel Wraith tense beside me like a pulled wire. “She didn’t ask to be bait.”
“I’m not bait,” I say quietly.
That shuts him up. For a second, no one moves. I feel all their eyes on me, but I don’t look away from Rook. “You wouldn’t make me bait,” I say softly. “That’s not what this is. You’d make me leverage. You’d make me message. You’d make me prophecy and consequence wrapped in one. But not bait.”
Rook’s jaw works once, and he nods. A brief confirmation, but one the room needs nonetheless.
Saint mutters, almost amused, “And people sayI’mdramatic.”
“It’s accurate,” Vale says.
Rook leans in over the table, palms flat against the wood. The candlelight cuts his face into shadow and gold. “Damien thinks he’s safe. If he’s arrogant enough to feel that way, he’ll react on instinct. I want to see his instinct. I want to see if it’s guilt or rage or calculation. I want to see who he’s afraid of. That tells me where to cut.”
“And what if his instinct,” Ash says softly from his end of the table, “is to shoot her in the face the second he sees her?”
The temperature of the room drops.
Wraith’s chair scrapes against the floor. “Then I tear out his throat and everyone he’s ever spoken to and salt the fucking—”
Rook raises a hand.
