He studies me for a long moment. Then: “It’s handled.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
“If someone’s looking for me, I should know who?—”
“Drop it, Vi.” His voice isn’t loud, but it’s final. “We’re managing it. You don’t need to know more than that.”
I want to push. Want to demand answers. But the look in his eyes stops me.
He’s not shutting me down because he doesn’t care. He’s shutting me down because whatever’s happening with the outsider is dangerous enough that he doesn’t want me involved.
Or maybe he just doesn’t trust me with the truth yet.
Either way, I swallow the rest of my questions and nod once. “Fine.”
“Good.” He turns and keeps walking.
I follow, but the unease sits heavy in my chest.
Something’s happening. Something they’re not telling me.
51
VI
The corridor opensinto a small alcove half hidden behind a rusted electrical panel. Rogue stops, leans one shoulder against the wall, and finally looks at me. Mask gone. Just his face, sharp cheekbones, dark eyes that seem to catch every flicker of light and hold it.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tease. Just watches. “Sit,” he says, nodding to a low crate pushed against the wall.
I don’t sit. I lean instead, arms crossed, back to the cold metal. My knee throbs from the walk, but I lock it straight. I’m tired of showing weakness.
“You brought me here to talk,” I say. “So talk.”
He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, but not quite. “You’re not wrong. But you’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
He studies me for another beat, then pushes off the wall and steps closer. Not crowding. Just close enoughthat I can smell the faint leather of his coat and the clean sweat underneath.
“Being brought into the Skylight Room, and getting your own place, changes things,” he starts. Quiet. Measured. “You’re no longer just another Runt sorting crates and keeping your head down.”
I swallow. “I figured that out when Armen pinned a guy’s arm to a gate for touching my wrist.”
Rogue’s mouth quirks, just one corner. “That was the public version. This is the private one.”
He gestures vaguely upward, toward the invisible ceiling and the room high above us.
“That space isn’t just a hideout. It’s ours. The three of us. No one else gets in. Ever. The moment you stepped through that door, you stopped being background. You know this but I want to make sure you really understand. You became leverage. A prize. A weakness someone could use against us, or a weapon we could use against them.”
“So I’m a bargaining chip?”
“No.” His voice hardens. “You’re protected. But protection comes with a target on your back. You know that. Powerful Rotters, ones who don’t answer to Armen, Sting, or me, will either want to control you or get rid of you to get to us. There’s no middle ground anymore.”
I feel the air go thin. “And if they try?”
“Then we stop them.” He says it simply. Like it’s already decided. “But stopping them means blood. Means alliances shift. Means the Rot gets louder around you, not quieter.”
