Halcyon's chatting up a blonde I don't recognize.
Normal night. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Then Cain walks in.
He's got his arm around a woman—his woman, the one he's been parading around for the past few years.
Ripley, I think her name is.
I've seen her at gatherings before, always at his side, always quiet.
Pretty, in a soft way.
Curves that her dress can't hide.
Brown hair, brown eyes, the kind of face that would be forgettable if it weren't for the way she holds herself.
Like she's trying to disappear.
I notice things. It's my job to notice things.
And I've noticed, over the past year or so, that something about Cain's woman isn't right.
She smiles, but it never reaches her eyes.
She laughs at his jokes a beat too late, like she's performing rather than reacting.
She flinches when he moves too fast.
Small things. Things most people wouldn't see.
Iseethem.
Cain steers her toward the bar, his hand on the small of her back.
No—lower. Possessive.
His fingers dig into her hip, and I watch her face go carefully blank.
She's good at that. Hiding. Pretending.
I know something about hiding, too.
"Prez." Cain nods at me, all false respect and easy charm. He's good at the charm. It's what makes him effective as an Enforcer. People underestimate him, see the smile and the swagger, and don't realize the violence lurking underneath until it's too late.
I used to think that violence was an asset. Now I'm not so sure.
"Cain." I nod back, keeping my voice neutral. My eyes flick to the woman beside him. "Ripley."
She looks up, startled—like she didn't expect me to know her name.
For a moment, our eyes meet.
Hers are brown, like I remembered, but there's something in them I didn't notice before.
Something dull. Flat. Empty.
"Hi," she says softly. Then she looks away, like even that single word cost her something.
