They each had their own personal chef, who understood their appetites and dietary needs.
Meridian sat across from him, eating a fruit platter, dressed in a black Tom Ford velour tracksuit. Grace was to his left, always quiet, reading the actual New York Times newspaper he had delivered every day—waiting in line to be read next were The Wall Street Journal, Washington Post, and The Guardian.
Roz sat a couple of tables over with Corvo, both in an intense conversation about the overreach of AI that Scar had no problem ignoring.
His assistant placed a frosted mug of Belgian pale ale and a glass of water in front of him without him asking.
Scar took a large gulp as he stared at one of the many screens mounted on the stone wall. There was no sound, just a satellite feed of a port facility and a time stamp.
“Jo’s been watching this for two nights,” he said, sounding bored. “When are we getting the order?”
“Tomorrow we’ll go in and retrieve the asset, get him across the border.” Meridian glared at him with those dark eyes. “And we do it quietly.”
Scar leaned back, taking another long drink of his beer. “Who will be on the ground?”
“You’ll be on the perimeter with Ex, while the Browns and I breach. You are to keep watch and stay quiet.”
Scar huffed, rolling his eyes.
Meridian’s stare held him in place.
“When I say quiet, I mean fuckin’ quiet. None of that bullshit you pulled in Kyiv, when you turned a clean pickup into a blood bath because you wanted to make a point.”
“I guess I struggle with meekness when it comes to pedophiles and men trafficking children.”
Grace still hadn’t opened his mouth, but from the quick expression he flicked his way over top of his newspaper, it seemed as if he felt the same.
The door opened, and Zorion walked in with Valor on his heels.
They sat at the table, bringing with them the scent of a new, warmer season.
Meridian didn’t ask…he ordered. “Report.”
“He did well,” Zorion grinned. “Really well.”
Scar’s pulse lurched, knowing they were talking about Gage, but he kept his face blank.
“Define ‘well,’” Meridian said. “Well enough for me to use?”
“He learns fast,” Valor said. “He’s hard to rattle, even harder to stop.”
Zorion’s mouth curved. “He tracked us through shifts in the canopy and changes in the wind. In a night roaring with noise, he still picked out every sound that mattered.”
Scar swallowed. They weren’t describing the same timid man who’d hidden behind Roz any time he showed up on the block.
“I say hell yeah, you can use him. He’s unbelievable, and he’s got a level of composure that rivals any of ours. He’s restraint and power with a tinge of empathy—the kind of danger our marks won’t see coming.”
Scar tightened his fingers around the edge of the table.
He hadn’t seen much of Gage in the last couple of months, besides a few passings in the hall and departments.
The Blacks had Scar doing small missions that often took him out of the state or the country, and Gage had been putting in countless hours of learning and specialized training.
Scar tried to convince himself it didn’t matter if he saw Gage or not, but his body told him it did.
“And the cane?” Grace asked, his low, harsh voice a rare thing to hear.
Zorion laughed. “It’s not a cane. It’s a weapons system. Haptics in the grip, terrain-read at the end, and it expands and contracts at his command. He’s already using it as if it were built into his arm. He fuckin’ batted one of my arrows out of midair.”
