He holds up one hand in mock surrender. “Relax. I’m not here to play. I’m here because you pulled her off the corridor like she was about to combust.”
I keep my voice even. “You saw what happened.”
“I saw you move her,” he says. “I didn’t see why.”
“You don’t need to,” I reply.
Rogue leans back against the wall, shoulders loose. “I heard Sting went and made it loud.”
Vi’s fingers flex once behind the chair. Rope creaks softly.
I shift my stance just enough that she sees it in her peripheral.
She goes still again.
Rogue watches that interaction and lets out a quiet laugh. “Oh. You’re training her.”
“I’m managing a situation,” I say.
“Same thing,” Rogue replies. He turns his head slightly, looking out toward the corridor again. “Where is he?”
“Close,” I answer.
“As usual.”
Rogue’s gaze returns to Vi. Not hungry. Not soft. Evaluating. Like he’s seeing where she fits. “Such a good Runt,” he says.
Vi’s head turns an inch before she catches herself. Not enough to fully look at him. Enough that I know she heard.
Rogue notices too, and that amuses him. “Ah. There it is.”
Vi speaks before I can stop her. “What does that mean, a good Runt?” Her voice is controlled, but I can hear theedge. She’s choosing to engage. That is either courage or a mistake.
Rogue’s head tilts. “You don’t know what a Runt is?”
Vi’s eyes cut to me for the briefest second.
Rogue makes a soft, sympathetic sound that is not actually sympathetic. “Oh, Armen. You didn’t tell her.”
“I didn’t have to,” I say.
Rogue’s grin is audible. “You always think you don’t have to.”
Vi’s posture tightens. “What?”
Rogue spreads his hands. “It’s what you are when you’re inside the Rot. Useful, but not… featured.”
Vi’s eyes narrow. “I know what a Runt is. But a featured Runt?”
“It’s a kinder word than most,” Rogue says.
“Rogue,” I snap.
He ignores me, still speaking to Vi. “Runts don’t get masks. They don’t get the ceremony. They don’t get the rules explained. They get put where they’re needed.”
Vi’s breathing changes. Not faster. Shallower. The silence that follows is thick in the small recess. Vi holds herself very still, like movement might make Rogue’s words true in a way they aren’t yet.
I watch her face, the way her eyes sharpen as she processes. Anger, first. Then calculation. The same stubbornness that got her into this mess in the first place.
