Rook’s mouth tightens. “Of course she did.”
I watch him closely. The calculation. The restraint. The way something dangerous coils just beneath his composure.
“She hasn’t moved it,” I add. “Which means she didn’t expect to be interrupted.”
His eyes flick to mine. “Meaning?”
“She thought she had time,” I say. “Which means she didn’t plan to run. She planned to come back.”
The room stills.
Not dramatically. Not theatrically. But in that subtle, lethal way that happens when the truth lands.
Rook exhales once, slow, controlled, then turns from the window. He doesn’t touch the drive. He doesn’t reach for it. He studies it like it might bite. “How clean?” he asks.
Ash answers without hesitation. “Untouched. No markers. No secondary tags. She hid it like someone who knows how to vanish.”
Rook nods once. Then — and this is where the night fractures — he steps back. Physically, and deliberately away from the drive. “Put it back,” he says.
Ash blinks. I freeze.
“Put it back,” Rook repeats, voice calm, absolute. “Exactly where you found it. No disturbance. No trace.”
Ash’s head tilts, just slightly. “I don’t understand. We have the drive. We could end this now.”
“Yes,” Rook agrees. “We could.”
The silence stretches, thick with implication.
“Then why aren’t we?” I ask quietly.
Rook’s gaze lifts to mine. Striking blue. Glacial. Too knowing.
“Because,” he says, “if she thinks it’s safe, she will lead us to everything else.”
Ash’s jaw tightens. “You’re baiting her.”
“I’m respecting her,” Rook replies. “There’s a difference.”
I study him then, really study him, and I see it — not mercy, not weakness, butinterest. The dangerous kind. The kind that grows teeth.
“She outplayed Ivan,” I murmur. “Outmaneuvered a Syndicate runner with nothing but instinct and nerve. You don’t want the drive. You want the mind behind it.”
Rook doesn’t deny it. “She didn’t sell it,” he says. “Didn’t leak it. Didn’t barter. She hid it.”
“Which means she doesn’t trust anyone,” Ash says.
Rook’s mouth curves faintly. “Smart girl.”
The words hang there between us. Not fond, or cruel. Appreciative.
I feel something shift in my chest, subtle and unwelcome. “You don’t want the others to know,” I say.
Rook’s gaze snaps to me. “No,” he agrees. “I don’t.”
Ash’s eyes narrow. “Vale will want blood.”
“Yes,” he says cooly.
