I pick up the envelope, keys, and fob. A sharp pain slices my chest, wishing she was still alive. She left me something—the only woman in my life who gave a shit.
“How kind,” I say with sarcasm. “What is it?”
“Well, the green paper in the envelope is called money––”
“Stop being sarcastic, asshole.” I interrupt. “I know it’s money. The fob and the keys?”
“The fob is to the car I bought.”
“You bought me a car?” I ask, surprised.
“Don’t get too excited. I bought it with your money.”
I snort. “I can’t even choose my own car. What are you, my father?”
“No, but it’s not like I can drag you out to the dealer without anyone noticing. The Order doesn’t know.”
I nod. Azriel mentioned Valen manages the accounts for us in ways that keep the operational side of things funded, and there is always what is needed, but this is different. He isn’t wrong. Silas and Dr. Wick would call a meeting.
This has my name on it from a solicitor following instructions left by the woman who chose me. She prepared for a version of the future for me without her in it.
I stare at my name on the deed of a house I’ve never set foot in. It’s not the grief of loss but something more difficult. The grief of being important to someone in advance by someone who is no longer here to receive the acknowledgment and respect of love.
“So what did you get me?”
Not that I give a shit. I’ll ride an electric bike for all I care. With the money in the envelope, an Uber would suffice.
He turns to leave, but opens the door before he says, “It’s parked in the back, and the keys are for the house next to Dravin’s near campus. The address is on the deed. It’s all yours as she intended.” He pauses, clears his throat and continues, “And only the Consortium knows about this.”
“Why give me all this now?” I ask.
Valen pauses at the door.
“Because hidden men are easier to bury.”
I look at him.
He glances at the keys in my hand. “The Order kept you invisible because invisibility made containment simple. A man in a white room can disappear. A man with a house, a car, a paper trail, and half the campus posting his face online becomes harder to erase.”
“So the car is bait.”
“The car is visibility,” Valen corrects. “The house is leverage. The money is yours. And the public version of you walking around campus is a problem the Order can’t quietly drag back underground without people asking why.”
I stare down at the keys again. For the first time, they look less like freedom and more like strategy.
Valen opens the door. “Do not mistake this for generosity. I’m giving them something else to manage.”
I snort. “But I thought I couldn’t leave?”
“You can’t.” And with that, he leaves, closing the door.
There’s fifty thousand in cash, and a bank statement letting me know I have more money than I know what to do with. The deed has my name on it. Saint Vitale. Below the signature line, pressed faintly into the corner of the solicitor’s seal, is a mark I almost miss.
A wolf.
A crown.
My fingers still over the paper.
