Glancing to the side, I saw papers stacked unevenly across the desk. A thin layer of neglect had settled over everything that wasn’t the blade. Pens and markers scattered all around. Chicken scratched theories lined the walls.
He’d stay here. Another hour, another ten, until he burned himself out completely. I wasn't about to let that happen.
I exhaled slowly.
Fine. If that didn’t work…
I pulled my phone from my pocket. “Guess I’ll call Ezra.”
The stylus stopped.
“Let her know you’ve decided FangTech can run itself without you. You have better things to do than work for the future of the Syndicate, right?”
The stool scraped loudly against the floor, the only warning I had before he was in my face.
My phone vanished from my hand, his fingers tightening around it as his eyes snapped to mine.
“Why would you do that?” he snapped, the words coming out sharp and fast. “You know she’s just going to?—”
He cut himself off, biting down on his lip as his gaze flicked off to the side, then back again.
“—start with thelectures,” he muttered, pacing half a step before stopping again. “About responsibility. Time management. Like I don’t already know all that!”
Then why don't you do it?It was a rhetorical question I kept to myself, knowing that he was truly incapable of doing what he was supposed to do instead of what he wanted to do.
I watched him grip my phone so tightly it creaked, but I really did not want to replace it again this month, so I quickly snatched it back as his attention drifted, remembering the last time Ezra had a talk with him.
“Then I guess that means you’re going to go shower,” I said, slipping it back into my pocket, “and get out of this lab for a few hours.”
“Take a break,” I gestured around us, “from all this.”
His eyes blinked, and this time, the focus had shifted and he actually looked around.
His gaze moved over the cluttered desk, the scattered notes, the empty plastic bags on the floor. His hand dragged through his hair, catching on the uneven strands before dropping again.
Then his eyes dipped to his shirt, seeing the dried stain, and he grimaced.
“Okay,” he grumbled, turning away just to snap back around, pointing a finger straight at me. “But I’m not going alone.”
The shift was immediate. A second ago, he’d been glued to that table, lost in whatever spiral the blade had dragged him into. Now, he was standing upright, body buzzing with energy as he tapped the face of his watch.
“I’ll use a disguise,” he went on, already pacing a step, his free hand gesturing as he talked. “No Syndicate tables. No recognition. I don’t have it in me to be ‘Boss Winstale’ tonight.”
“Sure,” I said, nodding easily, more interested in keeping him moving and out of this lab than arguing the details. “I’ll use mine too.”
The tension in his posture loosened just a fraction, and a small, satisfied smile pulled at his mouth. Approval of the plan or relief that I wasn’t going to fight him on it? Maybe both.
Both of us tapped on our watches, feeling the magic flow over my face and hair. Our watches weren’t there to look pretty, they were complex tools Calix and I had made, layered with spells, defensive measures, and offensive triggers. Just for the bosses and myself.
The first five buttons were standard for all of us. A magical barrier, sleeping powder, poison spray, cloaking spell, and schematic map of whatever building was within a hundred feet of you. The second set of five buttons were customized, tailored to whoever wore it.
They were the first products Calix and I made at FangTech.
With Calix handled, Jacobs' whiny voice sounded in the back of my mind, and I turned toward his desk. The pile was worse up close.
Papers stacked unevenly, some slipping out of place, others half-covered by notes scribbled in the margins. I reached out, shifting a section just enough to start sorting.
He moved fast.
