Page 94
“You want the exemption? You want the safety?” Leander said. “You don’t get it by trusting a suit like Tegula. You get it by making yourself undeniable.”
Sylla stared at the bruises on my arms and the boot on Leander’s leg. We had survived the monsters they were terrified of, and we were still standing in front of them, asking.
“If we walk in there,” Sylla said slowly, “and Tegula calls the guards...”
“He won’t,” I said. “Not on live TV. Not with the Generals watching. He needs a show. He needs a team. If we stand together, we are the team. If we fracture, we are just spare parts.”
“Words,” Varo spat. He stepped out of the circle, heading for the door. “You want us to die for your boyfriend? No thanks. I’ll take my chances.”
“Walk away,” I said, my voice cold, “and you lose your only shield.”
Varo stopped.
“Back me up,” I said, “and we force the Director to lock the roster tonight. No more cuts. No more Reserves waiting in the wings. Everyone standing in this circle gets the golden exemption. Guaranteed.”
“You can’t guarantee that,” Crus said.
“The sponsors can,” I countered. “If the public falls in love with this specific squad on live TV, Tegula can’t touch us. We make ourselves too expensive to replace.”
“The team decides the roster,” Varo repeated, testing the weight of the promise.
“All of it,” I said. “We run the field.”
Varo straightened his tie. The fear was still there, but now it was mixed with ambition.
“Fuck Anatol,” I said. “Fuck the Reserves. We take what is ours.”
Sylla hesitated. Then he nodded.
“Fuck them all,” Varo agreed, stepping into the circle.
Crus stepped in last, and he shook my hand. I let out a breath, my muscles finally loosening. We had an army. We looked like a disaster.
“Clean up,” I commanded, pointing to the industrial utility sinks along the back wall. “We can’t walk in there smelling like a boiler room. If we are going to do this, we do it with perfect compliance.”
The water came out cold and high-pressure from the sink. I scrubbed the grease and fluids from my chest and neck, watching the dark water swirl down the drain. Leander splashed water over his torso beside me, washing away the evidence of what we had done last night.
I buttoned my ruined shirt, tucking the torn tails into my pants. It wasn’t perfect, but it looked like battle damage now, not negligence.
“I need clothes,” Leander said, dripping wet.
He scanned the loading dock. There was a rolling rack near the service elevator holding spare uniforms for the event security detail, cheap black suits meant to make bouncers look respectable. He grabbed a hanger. A full suit, jacket and pants.
He pulled the pants on first. They got stuck at the ankle, the fabric catching on the bulk of the heavy medical boot. Leander didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the hem of the pant leg and ripped it upward. The fabric tore with a sharp sound, splitting to the knee. He shoved his foot through, the black plastic of the boot gleaming against the dark cloth.
He pulled the jacket on over his chest, buttoning it tight. It strained against his muscles, the cheap fabric protesting the width of his shoulders.
He looked dangerous. He looked like a bodyguard who had just buried the body.
I checked the time on the wall clock. 08:50.
“Ten minutes,” I said. “The broadcast starts at nine. Let’s go crash a party.”
CHAPTER 35
FELIX
The blast doors of the service entrance vibrated against my palms, humming with the kinetic energy of sixty thousand people waiting on the other side.
