Ice had been right.
Something smelled wrong.
Breakneck was about to walk through the doorway into whatever hell waited on the other side.
6
Michaels & Sons Custom Tailors, Annapolis, Maryland
Later in the day after lunch, they had taken over a small fitting room at the tailor’s, the kind with warm lighting and mirrors that made everything feel more serious than it was supposed to be. Jackets hung on hooks, garment bags stacked on long metal clothes rods, waiting for pickup, and Fly sat on a low bench pretending he wasn’t watching every second of what was happening.
Than stepped out.
Fly saw it immediately. The way Mei quieted, the way her breath caught just slightly, the way her eyes tracked Than from shoulders to shoes as if she were trying to recalibrate something inside herself. Than wore the tux like he’d been born in it, broad shoulders filling the jacket, posture easy and grounded, the sharp lines doing nothing but underline what was already there.
Mei crossed the small space between them without saying a word. She reached up, smoothed his lapels, then adjusted his bow tie with careful fingers. Her brow furrowed.
“Lose the vest,” she said decisively. “Just no.”
Than blinked once, then nodded. He shrugged out of the jacket and vest without comment. Mei took the jacket from him, waited as he slipped his arms back in, then brushed at his shoulders, her fingers lingering as if she were fixing something only she could see.
Fly squinted. He saw no lint.
“Yes,” Mei murmured, stepping back. “Just…yes.”
Fly shifted on the bench, a grin spreading slowly across his face. Was she responding to a man in a tux? Or was she responding to Than in a tux?
Than glanced down at his wrists, frowning. “What’s with these floppy sleeves?”
Mei smiled softly. “You need these.” She turned, reached into her purse, and pulled out a small velvet bag. Than took it carefully, his big hands suddenly unsure as he loosened the drawstring. Two round metal shapes spilled into his palm with a soft clink. He stared at them. “They’re buffalo,” Mei said quietly. “I wanted to get you something special for agreeing to come with me.”
Than swallowed. He stood there for a long moment, then lifted his eyes to hers. “Mei… thank you.” His voice was steady, but Fly heard the weight under it. “It’ll be an honor to wear them.”
Mei beamed.
Than picked one up, tried to work it into the cuff, then frowned again when it refused to cooperate. “I think I’m doing it wrong.”
“Let me,” Mei whispered.
She took the cuff link from him, her fingers brushing his wrist as she slipped it through, then did the other side with practiced ease. When she finished, Than wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, strong and gentle all at once. Mei hugged him back without hesitation, her cheek pressed briefly against his chest.
Fly watched them, his grin turning into something warmer.
For crying out loud. Had he really been this blind?
“I got these too,” Mei said, turning toward him with another velvet bag.
When they spilled out, Fly turned the cuff links over in his palm, studying the etched bird. The wings were flared wide, caught in the long, effortless line of a glide. Each feather was picked out in black and burnished copper, precise and deliberate. The body was banded in fine geometric markings, order layered over instinct. The head was pale, the eye sharp. A watcher.
“Kites,” he said after a moment. “Australian?”
He rolled the metal once more between his fingers. The bird wasn’t built to muscle its way through the air. It rode it. Let the thermals do the work. Patience over power. Altitude before action. The kind of hunter that didn’t rush, didn’t waste energy, didn’t strike until the outcome was already decided.
Fly closed his hand around the cuff link, the cool weight settling into his palm. Something about it felt familiar. Grounded. That’s why this trio worked. Than got him, and Mei got him. He cherished what they had more than they could know.
Mei nodded. “Yeah. But not because you’re Australian.”
He looked up at her then. She hesitated, just a beat, as if she were choosing her words carefully. “You’re…a big-picture guy…aerial,” she said finally. “You always have been. You see things from above. Not in a literal way, obviously,” she added quickly, then steadied herself. “You’re perceptive. Wide-ranging. You notice patterns before other people even realize there are patterns.”
