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"Cole. Yeah." I swallow against the dry ache in my throat. "And the department kicked me out. Canceled my stipend. Canceled my health insurance."

The air around us drops five degrees in an instant.

Lachlan’s chest expands as he draws in a long, rattling breath. The hand on my shoulder tightens, his knuckles turning pale, a low vibration starting deep in his chest—a sound that isn't remotely human.

"Where does this man sleep?" he asks, perfectly level.

I blink at him. "What?"

"Give me his address, Vivienne. I'll be back before noon."

"Lachlan, you can't just go murder a graduate student in West Philly."

"Why not?" He steps closer, towering over me, the heat radiating off him burning right through my sweater. "He stole from you. He took your living, he took your name, and he left you to starve. In the Highlands, we hang men like that from the nearest pine and leave them for the ravens."

A humorless laugh escapes my mouth. "As tempting as that sounds, it doesn't fix anything. It just makes him a martyr, and then the police get involved, and I don't think your magic sword works on forensic detectives."

"Then what do you want to do?" he growls, looking genuinely frustrated. "You just let him take it?"

"No."

I look at the email again. At Cole’s smug little headshot attached to the PDF—blue button-down, haircut his mom probably paid for, smiling like he’d actually accomplished something in his miserable life.

Then I think about Hobson, sitting behind his mahogany desk, acting like he was so disappointed in me while Cole sat in the other chair smirking.

And then I remember what Lachlan told me in the library.

Lass, you're richer than Midas. All the funds available to Midnight House are yours.

The anger in my chest doesn't disappear, but it shifts. It stops feeling like a headache and starts feeling like something sharp, clean, and dangerous.

"Lachlan," I say slowly, looking up at him.

"Aye?"

"How much money is actually in the House Midnight accounts?"

He blinks, caught off guard by the question. "I told you yesterday. It's been sitting in European trusts and mortal banks for nearly two hundred years, drawing interest. It's more than you could spend in three lifetimes."

"Can I access it today?"

"Aye. The bank in the mortal quarter handles the house's local estate funds. You're the Head of House. You have sole signature authority."

I look down at my chipped fingernails, then back up at the six-foot-eight Highlander standing in my foyer in sweatpants.

"Good," I say. "Because I don't want you to kill him."

Lachlan’s brow furrows. "Then what are we doing?"

"We're going to the department," I tell him, tapping the edge of the laptop screen until it snaps shut. "I need to return my office key to Dr. Hobson."

Lachlan stares at me for a long beat, his eyes narrowing as he reads the look on my face.

Slowly, the anger on his features cracks, replaced by a dark, dangerous grin that shows just a hint of his sharp canines.

"Aye," he murmurs, his voice a low, pleased rumble. "I'll go put on a shirt."

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