Splice’s heartwood gave a distinct, joyful leap at the phraseannouncing it to the world. He contained his pleasure, schooling his features back into their usual serious cast. "A formal declaration would be more appropriate, I agree. Perhaps we should draft a statement?—"
With a groan that was equal parts exasperation and surrender, Goldie’s hand fisted the front of his coat, yanked him down to her level, and silenced him with her mouth.
The kiss was not gentle. It was an urgent, full-bodied collision of unspoken things and undeniable heat, right there in the middle of the chaotic hallway.
For a moment his control frayed, the urge to let vines spill out and claim her overwhelming. He forced it back, settling his hands on the curve of her waist instead, anchoring them both.
When she broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to breathe, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright.
He couldn't resist. He murmured, his voice low, “And why did you wait to do that untilafterPell left?”
“Splice,” Goldie whispered, a smile playing on her lips. “Please shut up.”
He shut up.
“Goldie? Oh, thank the gods.” The sharp, panicked voice sliced through the crowded hallway.
A plump woman with blonde hair pulled into a loose, untidy chignon was hurrying toward them, wearing the unmistakable high-visibility vest of Parks and Paranatural Resources.
“Carmen?” Goldie said, stepping forward. “Are you okay?”
"Okay? Goldie, no one is okay." Carmen pulled Goldie a step further away from the main flow of foot traffic, her eyes darting nervously around the hall before landing on Splice. He stood silent and watchful, a point of stillness in the chaos that seemed to make Carmen even more anxious.
Goldie caught the woman’s wary gaze and leaned in conspiratorially. “This is Splice,” she said lightly. “Terrifying cheekbones, I know, but he’s with me. Totally safe.”
A sudden clamor echoed down the marble hallway.
Karen Vesuvius came striding into view. A ripple of hush moved ahead of her, the way schools of fish scatter before a shark. Her spine was straight as a blade, her expression sharp. No trace of the mousy clerk he had first taken her for. Splice remembered her in the Greenmarket business center, trying to maneuver herself into his orbit—very industrious, very civic-minded—offering to be his deputy.
At her side scurried a harried man, clutching a sheaf of notes like a talisman.
“I don’t care what the detectives say,” Karen snapped, her voice loud and hard as flint. “Truckenham’s office and files are off-limits under provisional injunction. Until a judge rules otherwise, they stay sealed.”
At Goldie’s side, Carmen’s eyes narrowed. “That bitch invoked probate review, public safety protocols, fiduciary duty,and about twelve other things. She’s now the only one allowed to touch Truckenham’s records.”
Her mouth twisted. “I’d admire the maneuvering if she weren’t making my life a living hell right now.”
The man at Karen’s side stammered. “But since the new majority owner has stalled negotiations… ”
Karen’s glare could have scorched steel. “Theso-callednew majority owner? Oh, I’ve already filed an injunction about that. Ashenvale Ventures will deal with me, not some plant god.”
“Karen, you don’t have standing?—”
“So what?” Her voice cracked, then steadied into venom. “I deserve a seat at the table after everything I endured under Truckenham. I will not be erased. We’ll let the courts decide.”
Her words died as her gaze locked on Splice, and her lips curled in a sneer.
“Oh, it’s you. The Assistant. If you have an issue, file a complaint like everyone else. Or better yet, have your boss file one. At least he might qualify as a legal person. You?”
Her gaze flicked over him with the brisk efficiency of someone deciding a document wasn't worth filing.
“I combed through the official Bellwether charter this morning. Funny thing, I couldn’t findsentient houseplantlisted under recognized entities. So, I’m afraid you don’t have standing. Which means you don’t have a say, and you should step aside and letreal peoplehandle this.”
Splice stilled. Something inside him, the fragileIthat had only just begun to take shape, curled in on itself and went quiet. He’d been called many things before: tool, proxy, extension. Never a person, but nevernotone, either.
But beside him, Goldie shifted. The air around her went sharp, dangerous, alive. Her hand slid into Splice’s and squeezed, once, fiercely, before she narrowed her eyes at Karen.
“I’m sorry,” she said, with the courteous, poisonous calm of someone selecting which knife to use. “Did you just insinuate that my boyfriend isnot a real person?”
