Cuán and I had pooled our resources early—purchased a block of apartments in what was then a newly developed stretch of Canary Wharf, back when the investment required nerve rather than just capital. It had skyrocketed since. All of our tenants were pack members. We kept the two penthouses. Territory, just expressed differently than it once had been.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
Cuán:What’s this about a potential threat?
I hadn’t forgotten Cuán was in the security group chat—I’d just hoped he’d ignore it.
I watched a cyclist narrowly avoid a black cab outside the window and composed my response.
Me:Good morning, brother. Why yes, I am well. Thank you for enquiring after my health.
Cuán:You remind me of the Queen of England.
I glanced up. We were passing the Dáire Financial building. His car was already in its space in the underground. Another late start, then.
Me:I saw your car. Another late start?
Cuán:It’s all about working smarter, not harder.
Lazy shithead.
He made me smile, which was irritating until I pictured him as a court jester. The insult also, immediately and unhelpfully, made me think of the situation at my office. The UKHSA officers. The carpet and toilet situation thatmayhave spread from my company’s kitchen area. The things that could never, under any circumstances, reach Cuán’s ears.
He would never let me live it down. Not once. Not ever. I would take it to my grave, which given my biology was a considerable amount of time to be hearing about it.
I needed to wrap this up.
Me:There is no threat. Kael has just been a little off.
Cuán:I don’t blame him. Imagine being stuck with you 24/7.
I stared at that for a moment.
Me:Don’t be bitter because you ended up being the ugly one.
I put the phone down.
Picked it up again immediately.
I should have resisted. Now he knew he’d gotten to me. Thirty-six years and I still hadn’t learned to let him have the last word in silence rather than proving he’d landed something.
The car turned toward Kilcullen Tech.
Kael had gone quiet again.
Watching. Waiting. Silently brooding.
I wondered if wolves could suffer from depression.
Chapter 14
Nika
My inner voice was jittery this morning.
I put it down to nerves. A CEO meeting would do that to anyone, even someone who had recently demonstrated a fairly impressive threshold for stress. But when the secretary led me into the conference room it all escalated dramatically and nerves stopped being an adequate explanation.
This time it wasn’t laxatives on my mind.
