“Bigger,” I finish. “I know.”
Clint exhales. “Okay. I’ll dig. But you need to stay alive.”
I glance toward the doorway where Lonari’s silhouette passes briefly—big, watchful, pretending not to watch.
“I’m working on it,” I say quietly.
Clint’s eyes narrow. “Who’s with you.”
I sigh. “Lonari.”
Clint’s face tightens. “Of course.”
I smirk faintly. “Yeah. Of course.”
Clint leans closer, voice low. “Jordan, I don’t trust him.”
“I don’t trust institutions,” I reply. “So we’re even.”
Clint’s jaw works, but he doesn’t argue.
“Ping me when you get a lead,” I say.
Clint nods once. “You too. And Jordan?”
“Yeah?”
His voice softens just a fraction. “Good job.”
I roll my eyes because if I accept praise I might cry, and I’m not doing that today.
“Ew,” I mutter. “Bye, Clint.”
He snorts. “Bye, kid.”
The channel cuts.
I stare at the dark screen for a long beat, listening to the server spine hum, smelling cold ozone and warm circuitry, tasting the bitterness of adrenaline still clinging to my tongue.
Then I look at the authorization fragment again.
A small piece of code.
A tiny thread.
The kind of thread that unravels empires when you pull it hard enough.
And somewhere upstairs, the Defrocked Nun keeps pretending it’s just a casino while the Nine probes our walls and the Coalition patrol plans its next “questioning,” and Lonari Kaijen tries to build legitimacy with blood still drying under his fingernails.
I flex my fingers, wincing at the stiffness in my wrists where cuffs used to bite.
“Okay,” I whisper to the server spine, to myself, to whatever stubborn god keeps refusing to let me die.
“Let’s go higher.”
CHAPTER 22
LONARI
