"You tried to play a game," he says, his tone cold against my ear. "Now you pay the entry fee."
He marches me down the hall to his private study and kicks the door open.
Inside, computer screens glow in the dark, casting a blue light over the room.
He dumps me down in the leather chair.
I’m swimming. The edges of my vision are blurring into gray static.
"Konstantin... please..." I whisper. "I'm tired."
"Look at the screen," he orders, grabbing the back of the chair to wheel me closer.
I blink, trying to focus on the monitor.
ROUTE 4-A: ATLANTIC LOOP. CARGO: AGRICULTURAL MACHINERY. STATUS: AWAITING AUTHORIZATION.
"What is this?" I mumble. "Atlantic Loop? That route is dead."
"Not anymore," he says. "The ship is loaded. It leaves tonight."
"No," I shake my head, dizzy. "Unscheduled... dangerous... union rules..."
"It’s illegal," he corrects me, leaning down. "There’s no agricultural machinery on that boat. And if you had behaved at dinner, perhaps I would have authorized it myself. But you wanted to drug me. You wanted to make me vulnerable."
He grabs my right hand.
"So now, you share the risk."
He places my hand on the fingerprint scanner.
"Authorize it," he says.
I try to curl my fingers, to pull away, but my muscles have turned to water.
"No, I won't."
"You will," he snaps.
He presses my index finger down onto the cold glass.
Beep.
FINGERPRINT ACCEPTED.
"One more," he says.
He grabs my chin, twisting my face toward the retinal scanner mounted on the monitor.
"Open your eyes."
My eyelids are so heavy. I want to close them. I want to sleep. The darkness is calling me.
"Open them!"
He uses his thumbs to force my eyelids apart. The red light from the scanner blinds me, sweeping across my vision.
Beep.
