That got a ripple of low laughter.
Valkyrie’s mouth twitched, but she reeled it in fast.
Behind her, the other Shore Vipers drifted closer. I started putting names to faces from what Valkyrie had mentioned on the ride here.
The tall one with the shotgunoutside was Indigo. Big gauges in her ears, black mohawk, quiet stare that took in everything and judged nothing until it had details.
The woman who had offered to “sit” me earlier was Rosé, Vice President. Her eyes were sharp under soft features, the kind that looked kind until you realized empathy didn’t stop her from breaking bones.
Arizona, with the camera strap around her neck even inside, snapped a quick photo of the room and then another of me, like she was cataloging the moment for evidence.
India leaned in a doorway nearby with a paperback in hand, watching over the top edge. Her hair was in those Viking braids, and she had the look of a woman who collected stories as much as she did money.
Diamondback hopped up on the bar itself, feet planted on a barstool, arms resting on her knees. “So, Devil’s Aces,” she said. “You guys as scary as the stories say, or are you all just loud and shiny?”
“Depends on who’s telling the stories,” I said. “And whether they’re still alive to finish them.”
California raised her brows. “He has some bite,” she said.
“Relax,” Valkyrie said. “He’s not here to impress you. He’s here because Liberty says so.”
“Liberty say we can look?” Raven asked with a teasing lilt.
“Look all you want,” Valkyrie said. “Just don’t touch the bag.”
She said it lightly, but there was steel under it. Their eyes went to the backpack again, curiosity crackling like static in the air.
“Noted,” India said from the doorway. “Bag is lava. Lava is bad.”
The conversations started to splinter after that. Some of the Vipers drifted back to their tasks. Cobra argued with Medusa about music from a corner. Every time I looked at her, she stared me down, but she kept a distance. Arizona went to pin photos on a board. India went back to her book.
Valkyrie stayed.
She slid onto the stool beside mine, close enough that I could feel the heat off her arm.
“Liberty says you’re not leaving.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“Until she hears what she wants from your VP and your Prez,” she replied. “Until she knows what exactly is in that bag and how likely it is to get us all killed. Until she decides whether you’re either a liability or an asset.”
“And if she decides I’m a liability?” I asked.
Valkyrie looked at me. Really looked. Then shrugged one shoulder.
“Then I wouldn’t advise you sleep too deep,” she said. “But I wouldn’t worry about it yet. You seem very attached to whatever you have. That means it’s important, and that makes you valuable. Valuable people livelonger. Usually.”
“How comforting,” I said.
“You want comfort, you picked the wrong clubhouse,” she said.
She finished whatever she had in her glass and set it down with a soft click.
“Liberty wants me on you,” she added. “Her words. Part babysitter, part guard.”
“So, you’re my shadow now?” I questioned.
“Think of it like this,” she replied. “If anyone comes to take that bag off you, they’ll have to go through me first. I’m curious what kind of idiot looks at this mess and still decides they want a piece.”
