Of course it isn’t.
On the screen, Violet rinses the mug in the sink, shoulders loosening just a fraction as Ella moves out of frame. The smallest tells. The smallest shifts. I catalog all of them anyway.
“She did this alone,” I say. “No lab. No backing. No safety net.”
“And you’re sure she’s not fronting for someone else?” Maverick asks.
I know what he’s really asking: is she a pawn, or is she a player?
“She’s not working for Rinaldi,” I say. “He’d be cashing in already. And no one in my circle had wind ofZbefore last night. Whoever she built this for, it wasn’t a syndicate.”
“So she’s a free agent with a city-level weapon,” he says quietly. “That’s worse.”
Worse because free agents are erratic. Worse because she didn’t come to me first. Worse because she slipped under my radar in the first place.
“You’re quiet,” he adds after a beat. “That’s unusual.”
“I’m thinking,” I say.
“You’re fixating,” he corrects, “That’s different.” The remark lands exactly where he aims it. Maverick doesn’t waste words; he doesn’t say something unless he’s willing to stand behind it.
My gaze stays on the screen. “You think I’m compromised.”
“I think your focus is split.” He doesn’t flinch when he says it. “You’re studying this woman’s morning routine like it’s an ops briefing. I need to know if that’s because she’s a threat, a liability, or something else you haven’t decided on yet.”
Something else. The phrase sits there, unwelcome.
“She’s the key to understandingZ,” I say. “That’s reason enough.”
“It’s not the only reason,” he replies.
I finally drag my eyes away from the monitor and meet his. “Careful.”
“If I thought you were fine, I wouldn’t say anything,” he answers, steady. “But this… whatever she is to you already… it’s affecting how long you stand in this room instead of in a lab or a meeting.” He says it like a man checking the integrity of a wall he’s responsible for holding up.
“I’m not planning on letting her walk away with the only working version of the formula,” I say.
“And I know you’ll rip it out of her hands if you have to,” he says. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
I arch a brow. “Then what is it?”
“I’m worried you don’t know yet whether you’re trying to protect her from what’s coming,” he says, “or from yourself.”
The air goes still after that. It’s the kind of line that would get another man killed. Maverick just watches me, waiting, ready to move whichever direction I decide this conversation is about to go.
Dark amusement curls low in my chest despite myself. “You’ve been spending too much time around therapists.”
“Please don’t insult me,” he says. The corner of his mouth tips, barely. “I just like to know which way the explosives are wired before I walk into the room.”
A beat passes. My temper pricks, wants to rise, and wants to snap. I push it down. I am not my father; I don’t lash out at the people who keep me alive.
“What’s going on with you and Cami?” I ask instead, shifting the field.
His gaze doesn’t flicker, but his posture tightens by a degree most people would miss.I don’t.
“Operational asset,” he says. “She knows people, and she has access. I point her at the doors I want open. That’s all.”
“‘That’s all’ doesn’t make your pulse jump,” I say. “Not usually.”
