So I keep my gaze on Vi. Because this is what matters.
Vi doesn’t look at Sting’s hand. She doesn’t flinch again. She holds still, eyes locked on him. “What’s going on here?” she asks, voice tight.
Sting’s hand stays where it is, shifting once, a small adjustment, like he’s settling more comfortably. “You’re here,” he says.
Vi’s eyes narrow. “No shit. I am also a Runt,” she says, like she’s getting used to the idea.
Sting pauses. Then he answers with the kind of bluntness that makes people bleed. “Yes. You are.”
Vi goes utterly still. A beat passes. Then she says, very quietly, “And what exactly does that mean?”
Rogue clears his throat as if he’s about to talk again. Sting doesn’t look at him.
“It means you’re useful,” Sting says.
“To who?”
Sting’s hand remains on her shoulder. He doesn’t pet. He doesn’t comfort. He simply keeps contact like it’s a fact. “To the Rot,” he says. “To us.”
Rogue shifts, amusement fading into something sharper. “Sting?—”
Sting cuts him off. “She asked.”
Vi’s voice trembles once, then steadies. “Not temporary. What does that mean?”
Sting’s gaze holds hers. “That depends,” he says.
“On what?”
Sting leans slightly, enough that his mask is closer to her face. Not touching. Just close. “On whether you survive being noticed,” he says. “You see, being noticed here in the Rot is not a good thing.”
I hear Vi inhale through her nose, controlled. I see theway she digs her heels into the floor as if anchoring herself. “And if I don’t want this?” she asks.
Sting shrugs. “Then you shouldn’t have joined the Hunt.”
The words are cold. Not cold for the sake of cruelty. Just true.
Vi’s eyes flash, anger rising. “I didn’t come here to be owned.”
Sting presses once against her shoulder, subtle. A reminder of the contact. “No,” he agrees. “You came here to get something.”
Vi’s lips part, then close again. She doesn’t deny it.
Rogue watches her with interest now, like he’s seeing her differently than he did ten minutes ago.
I step forward, just enough to shift the balance in the recess. “That’s enough,” I say.
Sting doesn’t look at me, but his hand finally lifts from Vi’s shoulder, slowly, deliberately, like he’s choosing the moment to remove it rather than respond to my command.
Vi remains tense where his palm was, as if her body is still expecting pressure.
Rogue exhales. “Well. That’s one way to do introductions.”
30
ARMEN
Vi doesn’t look awayfrom Sting.
