Vale barks out a laugh. “No.”
“Yes,” I say.
“She’s not like us,” he says, offended on reflex. “She’s… what is she, twenty? Twenty-two? Tiny little fox with paint under her nails, crying over her brother? She’s not like us, Quinn.”
“She’s twenty-five,” I say absently, eyes back on the feed.
He blinks. “You memorized that?Creepy.”
“Mm,” I say.
He sighs loudly, slumps back again, drags a hand over his face. “Okay. So let’s say, for a second, that she’s not just some pissed-off little sister. Let’s say she’s… what? Deep cover? A plant? A Fed? MI-whatever? That what you’re getting at?”
I say nothing. Vale laughs again, sharper this time, then shakes his head. “Fuck me.”
“Probably not,” I say dryly.
“You shut up,” he says with mock outrage.
“Always a delight talking with you,” I murmur.
He leans forward again, forearms to his thighs, gaze finally serious. “Is she going to sell us?”
It’s interesting, where his first fear lands. Not “is she going to kill us.” Not “is she going to leave with the drive.” Not even “is she going to break Caelum.”
Is she going to sell us.
Vale’s loyal to this house in his own depraved way. It’s almost sweet.
“She could have already,” I say. “She hasn’t.”
“Could be waiting,” he mutters.
“Yes,” I say. “Could be. But she didn’t scream when we took her. She didn’t try to shout a location or a code phrase for the cameras. She hasn’t tried to trigger any alert by saying certain phrases on mic. No ‘help me, can anybody hear me, my name is—’ Performative distress paired with identity markers is common in embedded law enforcement. She didn’t do any of that.”
Vale’s face stays unreadable, but the tension around his mouth eases just a notch.
“So no,” he says.
“So not yet,” I correct.
He snorts.
After a beat, Vale tips his head back and looks at the ceiling. “Caelum’s losing his mind.”
“Yes,” I say calmly.
“He touched her face,” he says, like he still doesn’t believe it.
“I saw,” I say.
“He doesn’t touch anyone like that.”
“I know,” I say.
“He’s going to fuck her.”
I glance at him. He grins again. “Don’t bother playing innocent, Quinn. We all know it. Wraith’s halfway there and he hasn’t even kissed her. Saint’s praying about it. I—” he flashes teeth “—am keeping myself entertained. But Caelum? Caelum’sdone. It’s just when, not if.”
