Reece: I’m packing.
Grayson: As in still packing or just started?
Reece: There’s barely anything. You could probably carry everything I own in one trip.
“I support Stone Solutions denying Cedrick’s involvement, as obviously we can’t have the truth getting out,” Traynor said. “But we do need to keep up the messaging that empaths are pacifists.”
“Some might say the paranormal ability to read others’ emotions without consent isde factoaggressive, regardless of what the empaths claim to be,” Marist said delicately. “But you should of course endorse the messaging you feel best, Director.”
Grayson flicked his gaze up to Marist. After a moment, he looked back at his phone.
Grayson: Only probably?
Reece: Yes, only PROBABLY—I own a car.
Grayson: Debatable if that tiny thing you drive counts.
Reece: Bigger is only better if we’re talking MPG averages.
Always with the sass. Reece’s willingness to fire back on things he cared about, no matter how scary the target—it tickled something at the back of Grayson’s brain, reminders of other empaths he’d met. He ignored the memories, and they disappeared, unexamined, as his watch vibrated.
Reece: My new place is downtown.
Reece: Downtown where there are lots and lots of people.
The sublet he was taking over was in a high-rise only blocks from the Seattle Police Department’s headquarters.
Grayson: Good. You’re an empath, you need people around for all that empathizing.
Grayson wasn’t someone an empath could empathize with, but he was supposed to have been one of those people around today. He’d had a flight to Seattle booked for that afternoon before Traynor had asked him to come back to DC instead, though Grayson had yet to see what about this meeting required the Dead Man’s presence.
“Maybe we could use this opportunity to lessen the public’s fear of empaths,” Jacobs said, but he sounded dubious.
Nichols frowned. “I don’t think we want to do that. We still don’t know exactly what happened to Cedrick Stone, but multiple eyewitnesses place a Seattle empath, Reece Davies, at the scene on the roof of Stone Solutions—”
“Mr. Davies wasn’t responsible.”
All of the heads at the table snapped in Grayson’s direction. Several eyes narrowed.
And this was the crux of why the room was unhappy with Grayson. They didn’t want Cedrick Stone to be responsible for Senator Hathaway’s murder; they wanted a comfortable scapegoat, someone who wasn’t a billionaire, a CEO, and their golfing buddy.
Too bad. They didn’t get an empath.
Nichols cleared his throat. “Eyewitnesses do say that Stone had blood on his face—”
“He did,” Grayson said. “He also had a head wound.” Grayson ought to know; he’d put it there after Stone had taken a shot at him.
“So you still don’t think the empath should at least be investigated?” Marist said, mild and sweet, like that hadn’t been yet another unsubtle reminder that Grayson was the only one in the room with that opinion.
“No.” Reece already had enough anxiety to power a grid. He didn’t need extra stress.
Nichols turned to Traynor. “Reece Davies was at the scene—”
“Director Traynor, perhaps you could remind the room what I do and where I was,” Grayson said dryly. “I realize our Polaris director is accustomed to theotherkind of empath and may have trouble remembering what the pacifists are like, but last I checked, Director Nichols wasn’t the empath specialist who was also at the scene with Mr. Stone and Mr. Davies.”
Nichols folded his arms, but he didn’t speak.
“The empath surrendered,” said Grayson. “There were a dozen police officers there, easy targets for thralling. But even though nothing that had happened was his fault, even though he believed I’dkilled his sister, he surrendered. Not sure why I have to keep telling y’all that Mr. Davies is harmless, but he needs to be left alone.”
