I don’t take my eyes off Glar. “Trouble.”
Glar’s gaze flicks to Jordan, then back to me. “And you’ve brought a guest.”
“She’s not for sale,” I say.
Glar chuckles. “Everything’s for sale. The trick is just agreeing on the price.”
Kel’s tapping stops abruptly.
“Enough,” Kel says sharply. His eyes cut to me. “You will not pursue Yatori.”
The words land hard, like a door slammed in my face.
Jordan’s head snaps toward Kel. “Excuse me?”
Kel ignores her. “You will not speak of it. You will not investigate it. You will return to your place in the family and you will obey.”
I stare at him. “Why?”
Kel’s eyes flicker—just a flicker—toward Glar.
That’s the answer.
Jordan steps forward, voice rising. “People were executed. Civilians. This was staged?—”
I put an arm out, stopping her without touching her, a barrier of space and warning.
“Jordan,” I say quietly.
She glares up at me. “No. Don’t ‘Jordan’ me. He just told you to ignore a massacre like it’s?—”
“Like it’s business,” I finish for her, still calm. “Because here, it is.”
Kel’s gaze sharpens at her anger. “Human,” he says, and the word drips with something between disdain and caution. “You don’t understand the currents you’ve stepped into.”
Jordan’s laugh is sharp and bitter. “I understand a cover-up when I see one.”
Glar smiles wider. “Oh, I like her.”
“I don’t care what you like,” I snap, and my voice finally shows teeth.
Kel’s hand lifts again, palm down—command.
“Lonari,” Kel says, voice low and deadly. “You will stand down.”
I take a slow breath, tasting incense and old power and the faint sterile tang of the life-support mask. I look at Kel—at the way his eyes avoid mine for half a second, at the stiffness in his posture, at the fear threaded through him like a hidden wire.
This isn’t the Kel I remember.
This is someone wearing his seat.
My gaze slides to the financial dashboards hovering near the ceiling.
Tribute accounts.
Nine tribute ledgers.
Numbers scroll in sleek columns.
