He lasts eight seconds. Eight miserable seconds.
“Spit it out, Quinn.”
“Caelum’s already compromised,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says easily. “I clocked that yesterday. He’s using hissoftvoice.”
Soft voice. His word for the thing Caelum does when he’s already claimed something. The tone he only uses on his inner circle and the dead. Vale is cruder than I am, but not wrong.
I tilt my chin a fraction. “That’s not what I mean.”
Vale slouches deeper in the chair, spreading his legs, hands loose, pretending boredom. He’s not bored. His eyes are sharp. “Then go on, preacher. Enlighten me.”
“She’s not going to break us with the obvious lever,” I say. “Sex. Heat. Begging. You. Wraith. Me. Saint. Caelum. It’s all there, but she’s not leading with that.”
“Funny,” Vale mutters, “because she led real well this morning when I had my hand on her wrist.”
I don’t let my jaw clench.
Idon’t.
But I feel the flicker of something I don’t have a name for when he says that. I make note of it, and file that for later.
“She’s using her mind,” I continue, voice flat. “Leverage is the only reason she’s still alive, and she knows it. Most people in her position beg for their lives. She put us under contract.”
Vale grins, slow, remembering. “That washot.”
“Yes,” I say. “It was. Anddangerous.”
“So?” Vale lifts his chin toward the Ember feed. “We’ve had smart girls before.”
“No,” I say. “We’ve hadclevergirls before. We’ve had desperate girls who got lucky and rode the luck. She’s not lucky. She’s built. She’s trained.”
Vale’s smile drains. He sits up. “Say that again.”
“You heard me.”
“You’re sure?” He asks, jaw ticking with the information.
I gesture lazily at the monitor. “Look at her.”
He glances. His gaze flickers across the screen, then back to me, unimpressed. “I see a redhead with nice legs and an attitude problem.”
“And I see,” I say quietly, “someone who’s been doing deep work long enough to build reflexes you don’t get from street hustle.”
Vale snorts. “You think she’s police?”
“No,” I answer.
“Why not?”
“Because cops talk when they’re scared,” I say. “And she doesn’t. Because cops threaten chain-of-command and ‘do you know who I am,’ and she never once reached for authority. Because cops break in obvious places. She breaks in private.”
Vale’s fingers tap against his thigh.Tap. Tap. Tap. He’s thinking, which is good for all of us because when Mateo Vale isn’t thinking, people lose fingers.
“So if she’s not police,” he says slowly, “what are you saying she is?”
I rest my elbows on the arms of my chair and lace my fingers together. “I’m saying she’s something likeus.”
