I nod.
“And you don’t care.”
“I care about getting you in place before the new head of the snake figures out where the eyes went.”
She doesn’t respond, but her posture shifts—shoulders easing by a fraction, like she’s stopped bracing for the next blow.
It’s subtle, but it’s something.
She studies me a moment longer, eyes dark with calculation, then finally says, “All right. Let’s get on with it.”
I walk her to the car in silence. There’s nothing left to say. The deal is done. The risk accepted.
She slides into the backseat without hesitation. I follow.
The driver’s already got clearance for the airstrip. Tatiana keeps her eyes forward for most of the ride, one leg crossed over the other, fingers still gloved. She doesn’t ask what cover she’ll be using or where she’ll be housed. I don’t ask about the names she hasn’t given me yet. All in due time.
Halfway to the plane, she finally speaks.
“You know, if I find out you’re playing a longer game, I’ll bury you myself.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“Good.”
She turns back to the window.
She thinks she’s warned me off. That she’s named the stakes. But she hasn’t asked the real question: why I’m doing this.
She won’t. It’s not her problem.
Getting to LA was the goal. A clean landing, quiet clearance, no questions. I’m about to pull it off. I outmaneuvered Wyatt without ever having to say a word. I’m not proud of that, but I’m not sorry either.
11
Nina
Lucia has already scanned the office twice this morning. She’s halfway through her third pass when she glances up from the crawlspace beneath the desk.
“Still no ghosts,” she says. “Unless you count the one you’re about to talk to.”
She grins—sharp and satisfied—then flicks her inspection wand off.
I don’t ask what she means. I already know.
Everything in this room is clean and controlled. There is a ceiling mic in the track lighting and micro-cameras flush with the trim.
Behind the office walls, someone is always listening.
And I’m still doing this my way.
Lucia hands me the panel remote. “Last sweep’s logged. If you need me, the red button’s still in your desk drawer. Secondary trigger’s in the hallway light switch plate.”
She taps the panel once. “Residential wing’s clean. You’re only hot in here.”
One zone for truth, one for rest. That was the deal.
I walk her to the door. There’s nothing more to say and no reason to linger. She’s done her job, and we both know what comes next. But she pauses in the frame before she leaves.
