Will casts her a sidelong glance. Over the years, Sam has experimented with how to toy with his intimidations, how to walk the line between annoying and amusing him, and, if she suspects correctly, he seems to enjoy her game.
He eyes her for a second, then smiles. “Your company is always appreciated, Miss Lang,” he murmurs.
Then his gaze slides away and back to the road. Sam can feel the flush rising hot on her cheeks. It’s that look again, his harsh intensity mellowing into something deeper. She turns her head to the window and, secretly, allows herself a smile.
Downtown is busy tonight. Outside, the shopping complex across from the hotel is awash in lights, while the hotel itself is hosting some kind of birthday party, women in glittering dresses and men in tuxedos filling the lobby with noise. The kind of event that should disguise their own business there well.
They skip the valet and instead park the car a block away, on a shadowed street. Sam takes up her usual spot at Will’s side, matching him stride forstride, their hands in their pockets and footsteps in sync as they near the hotel’s front entrance. As they step inside through the sliding glass doors, Will puts a hand against the small of Sam’s back and steers them around the crowds clustered in the lobby. Sam bites her lip. His touch is always like an electric shock.
As they near the elevators, Will moves away from her. They don’t need to say anything to each other; a knowing look between them suffices, and then Will is heading down the long hall to the meeting rooms. Sam turns in the opposite direction and heads to the lobby’s bar.
Here, she takes a seat. Guests and waiters alike pass her without glancing her way, leaving her unnoticed and unremembered. Her eyes wander the crowd, memorizing everything. At least a hundred people must be in here, but Sam’s mind, enhanced on sand, records details effortlessly about each of them. Clothes and hairstyles and voices and who they’re talking to, how old they are and what they’re drinking. She records it all. If she closes her eyes, she can see the scene like a movie clip in her head, can pause it and zoom in on specific people, can identify the fabric of a specific woman’s dress or the design on a man’s cuff links.
Over by the hotel desk, Sam now sees a young man speaking to a receptionist, his back turned to her. She watches him idly for a minute. Tall, strong, and lean, brown skin, a well-fitted suit. He triggers one of her specific memories, and she finds herself thinking, as she often does, about Ari.
I like you the way you are, Sam.
He once said that to her, promised he wouldn’t forget her. And then he abandoned her.
Sam stirs in her seat, annoyed with herself for caring. She barely has time to see her mother, let alone anyone else from outside the syndicate. She straightens in her chair and hardens her heart. If Ari hadn’t left her, she would have left him. Best that they didn’t drag out their goodbyes.
At the end of the hall, she finally sees two others from Grand Central arriving from a side entrance. They fall in behind Will.
Sam rises without a sound and heads toward the hall. As she goes, people move around her as if she is a mere obstacle in the way. Their eyes never go to her. She maneuvers through the throngs without touching anyone, until she stops to wait near the beginning of the hall.
Ahead of her, Will and his associates exchange words with two Lumines men who emerge from one of the meeting rooms. Sam studies them. There’sa man she’s heard of but never seen: Henry Maclan, one of Lumines’s factory directors. With him is a polemist, Kane Zhukov. She notes everything about them in a flash—clothing, fabric, heights, facial features. Suits, no visible weapons, but it doesn’t matter. Alchemists can always arm themselves.
Rudra, Reed’s right hand, should be here soon. Sam makes a round back to the lobby, obeying Will’s order to note the rest of the guests. Her mind feels bright as a coin, absorbing every detail within reach.
Then she notices someone else.
It’s the same young man she saw earlier by the reception desks, tall and elegant, his head inclined slightly toward another man as they exchange a quiet conversation. Except this time, she glimpses part of his face through the crowd.
Sam doesn’t recognize him at first, although there’s something about him that draws her eye. Others seem to feel the same, for she can sense guests turning toward him as he passes through, so that where he goes, a ripple through the crowd follows. Is he famous? She frowns, catalogs him, and makes her way closer until she catches sight of an unmistakable fox pin gleaming on his suit’s lapel.
Someone taps the young man on his shoulder, and he turns to address the newcomer. As he does, Sam gradually makes her way closer. His back is turned to her now, and he is on the move, heading with his companion toward the hall where Will’s meeting is going to be. But the nearer she gets, the more her skin prickles. No, something about him is too familiar. Her heart starts to pound.
At last, she’s close enough to recognize the young man’s companion.
Rudra Mahajan. Reed’s right hand.
And just as Sam is wondering who Rudra has decided to bring with him tonight, the young man with him turns so she can see him in his entirety. He has a beautiful smile, and when he laughs, the sound runs through Sam’s entire body.
She freezes in her tracks. The buzzing lobby around her seems to silence.
His voice is different. Older, more mature, yet still unmistakable. It’s him. It’s his eyes and his skin and his hair, luminously dark and rich brown tones and rich black waves, his smile and laugh and voice,that voice.A tide of memories hits her with such force that it makes her head swim.
Ari.
It’s Ari.
