Untouchable.
The word sits strange in my chest. Not comfort. Not pride. Just... recognition. I survived yesterday because of them. Because Armen, Sting, and Rogue decided I was worth bleeding for. Worth breaking bones for. Worth the risk. And now, everyone knows it.
I finish my current crate, wipe my hands on my jeans, and reach for another. My fingers are still shaking slightly. I clench them to stop. Movement in my peripheral vision.
The older woman with the shaved head is walking toward me. Slow. Deliberate. She stops at my table, sets down a crate of bandages like she’s just delivering supplies.
But her eyes meet mine. She leans in slightly, voice dropping.
“When you’re ready to know more about your father, find me.”
My breath catches. “Where?—”
“Not here.” Her gaze flicks to the nearest Rotters, then back to me. “Not now. But when you’re ready.” She straightens, picks up the empty crate. “Think about it.”
Then she’s gone, disappearing back into the flow of workers.
I stand there, pulse hammering, staring at the spot where she stood.
My father.
The older woman knows something. She said as much yesterday. He wasn’t what they think. He tried to expose the town crooks. He left evidence.
I want to follow her. Demand answers. Find out what she knows. But I don’t. Because I remember Armen’svoice in the ledger room:Digging gets people killed.I remember Sting’s warning:Drop it.I remember Rogue’s hand on my shoulder:Let it go.
I exhale slowly and go back to sorting supplies.
Not today. But soon.
65
VI
I’m halfwaythrough my shift when Sting appears at my table. No warning. Just there, coat open, eyes scanning the hub like he’s looking for threats.
“Come with me,” he says.
I set down the packet I’m holding. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” His hand finds my elbow, firm, grounding. “Someone wants to see you.”
My stomach drops. “Who?”
He doesn’t answer. Just starts walking toward the exit.
I follow, knee protesting every step.
We move through corridors I half recognize, display cases that once held jewelry, service passages, old maintenance halls, everything frozen in time. Sting doesn’t speak. Doesn’t explain. Just walks with that steady, controlled pace that means something’s happening.
We reach a heavy metal door I’ve never seen before. Reinforced. Locked from the inside.
Sting knocks once, sharp, deliberate. A panel slides open. Eyes peer through. Then the door unlocks with a heavy clunk.
Armen is on the other side. He looks at me, expression unreadable. “She’s at the perimeter.”
My pulse kicks. “Who?”
“Older woman. Says her daughter came looking for you. Never came home.”
