Page 19

“She nearly fell.”

“And?”

“And I wasn’t in the room to catch her.”

Darius went quiet. Genuinely quiet, for once, catching the thread underneath that sentence that had nothing to do with scaffolding. “You will be next time.”

“Yes.”

“Every time, from now on.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not a small thing you’re describing, Norden. That’s a full-time occupation, effectively.”

“I’m aware of what it is. I’m doing it anyway.”

“Then try to make it slightly less obvious you’re planning to be everywhere she is from now on. Subtlety was never your event, but you could attempt it.” He stood, straightened a cufflink that hadn’t needed straightening, and stopped at the door. “Does she know what you are?”

“No.”

“Fun conversation, that one. Want notes? I’ve watched it go badly for other people.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” He didn’t leave. He never did when told to — the instruction functioned, as far as Darius was concerned, as a suggestion — and he’d resettled fully into the chair by the time Victor’s footsteps hit the corridor outside.

Victor came in already talking, tablet lit, and the stillness he usually carried had teeth in it this time.

“The surveillance sharpened. It’s not ambient anymore.” He set the tablet on the desk, angled toward Norden. “Someone’s tracking her directly — the studio, her coffee stop, the drive home. Deliberate. Organized. And it predates the commission.”

Darius sat forward, all the humor gone from his face in a single motion. “How far back.”

“Eleven days before Gerri Wilder walked into her studio.” Victor let that land. “Whoever this is didn’t find her because of the job. They found her first.”

Darius uncrossed his legs, sat up fully, all the earlier lounging gone from his posture at once. “That’s not a coincidence. Nobody surveils a random glass artist eleven days before a completely unrelated matchmaker happens to knock on her door.”

Victor’s expression didn’t change. “I’m aware.”

“Does Gerri know?”

“Not yet. That conversation isn’t going to be simple.”

A flat, dangerous stillness moved behind Norden’s eyes. “Nothing about this is simple.” Norden’s jaw tightened. “Before Gerri.”

“Before Gerri.”

The careful, manageable version of this he’d been running since the boardroom — calling it standard diligence, calling it a contractor’s safety, calling it anything except what it was — stopped being optional in the space of that sentence.

He didn’t need a strategy meeting. He was moving, crossing the office in three strides, already three steps past this conversation and into the next one.

“Double her detail. Eyes on her from the second she leaves that studio to the second she’s back inside it, invisible enough that she never has cause to ask why.” He planted both hands flat on the desk. “Find out who’s asking about her. I want a name by tomorrow. And pull every person who’s had legitimate access to her schedule since the commission started — Elena’s team, the crew, all of it. Nobody gets waved through because they’ve worked here a long time.”

“That’s a long list.”

“Make it shorter.”

“With respect, that’s not how lists work. Not if you want it done right.”