I lean forward as much as the restraints allow.
“That’s exactly why.”
She watches me for a long beat.
Then she exhales slowly.
“Do you know how many Nine families are now demanding access rights to the node,” she asks quietly.
“More than yesterday,” I say.
Her lips press together.
That’s the second fracture.
The third one is an accident.
They bring in a syndicate intermediary two days later.
He’s supposed to scare me.
Mid-fifties.
Soft belly.
Cheap cologne layered over stress sweat.
He paces in front of me and talks about how I’m running out of time and how they’re going to start breaking fingers instead of bruising ribs.
I let him talk.
I wait until he’s finished.
Then I say, “You’re not Nine.”
He freezes.
“You’re Glimmer Cross,” I continue casually. “Second-tier syndicate with three freight trusts and a protection racket in District Nine. You’ve been trying to get a seat at the grown-up table for ten years and nobody takes you seriously.”
His face goes gray.
“You’re here because someone above you thinks I’m leverage,” I add. “You’re also here because your boss already knows about the node and is trying to cut himself into the deal before your so-called partners murder each other over it.”
His hands start shaking.
“I can give you proof,” I say softly. “But it’s going to cost you.”
He swallows.
“What.”
“You tell your boss that the Nine already flagged him as expendable.”
Silence.
“I’m lying,” I add. “But he won’t know that.”
That’s the fourth fracture.
