Page 15

“I have actual reports to file.”

“In an hour.” Pike was already steering toward the square. He’d been redirecting this alpha for eleven years, honing his skill at making it feel like the alpha’s own idea. “Tor thinks you should eat.”

Tor said nothing. He didn’t need to. Drayce had a decade’s practice interpreting Tor’s silences, and this one clearly meant, obviously, I’ve been saying this for a week.

“One hour.”

The counter-service café on the east side of the square didn't care about anyone’s governance position and would tell you the soup was finished if it was. Corner table. Maelin ordered for everyone without asking, got it right, and settled back to watch the square through the window.

Pike put the notebook on the table. It had tabs. New tabs. Color-coded.

“When did it get tabs?”

“Bexley showed me her system.” He smoothed the first one — green. “It’s very effective. I’ve had a productive morning.”

“You were in the briefing.”

“I was in the briefing, and I was also running a parallel record.” He opened to green. “Starting here. Elder Ruben found me in the corridor afterward.”

Drayce looked at him.

“He wanted to know who she was.” Pike’s face settled into the real one — genuinely entertained, entirely on Drayce’s side about all of it. “I told him she was in the official record. He said he knew. He wanted to know who she was to you.” He set the notebook down. “Then he said, ‘About time,’ and walked away. Thirty-four years on that council. Those were the most interesting two words he’s spoken in a session.”

Drayce drank his coffee.

“The observation was relevant.”

“I know.” Pike wrote it down. “I’m documenting your justifications. They’re very consistent.”

“What does green mean?”

“The moment you went off script.” He turned the tab. “You added a personal character endorsement to the permanent council record. First time in thirty years. I checked the archive.”

“The data was incomplete.”

“The data has always been incomplete. You have never supplemented it with your personal opinion of someone’s composure.” He was pleased about this. “Yellow tab.”

“You have a yellow tab.”

“The Serath proposal.” He settled in like a man about to enjoy himself. “He stopped mid-sentence, Drayce.”

“The position was correct.”

“He stopped mid-sentence.” Pike demonstrated with his hand — talking, then a flat stop. “From the moment he said the word surveillance to when he stopped, four seconds. You set a personal record.” He looked up. “Previous fastest was nine. The big territory disputes out east, eleven years ago.”

“You time these things.”

“I observe. The timing is a natural consequence.” He closed yellow and opened blue. “Third tab.”

“I don’t want to know what’s in the blue tab.”

Tor hadn’t looked up from his pie. “You looked at the south wall door.” It was just a fact about the morning.

“I was monitoring the room.”

Tor set down his fork. “Twice.”

Silence.