“Not another Lawyerbot case?”
His gaze goes a little distant. “Do you know why wraith handlers don’t use their real names?”
I blink. The question throws me, and it takes a moment to answer. “I always thought it was so wraiths couldn’t track them down after we’re freed. And so you can all pick pretentious titles like you’re counselors at the world’s worst summer camp.”
That gets me a laugh. It’s short and dry, but honest. “Well, yes. But as you did a good job today, I’ll let you in on a small secret.” His face sobers. “Wraiths do not die. Not officially. They simply… vanish, their records erased if they perish on a mission.”
I scowl at him. “That’s not a secret.”
His expression doesn’t flicker. “Wraiths aren’t the only ones for whom that applies. Particularly if a handler dies on the job… or if they do something unforgivable.”
It takes me a moment to get it. “Oh,” I say. Then, “Oh.”
I’ve always thought wraith handlers had it pretty good. Order around some criminals, solve some crimes, do some paperwork, get a decent paycheck and federal health care. But perhaps they are also chosen because no one will miss them. Perhaps the line between wraith and wraith handler is thinner than I ever thought possible.
“So Consul’s gettingretired,” I say. Permanently. To some impenetrable federal prison. And no one will ever look for her, because technically she doesn’t exist.
“As for Corey,” continues Prefect, “he was found unconscious in the basement. He’s alive, but he’ll need some recovery time. You hit him with a rather large dose of sedatives.”
“And Anasova?” I ask. “She was on the roof. I zip-tied her to a solar panel.”
“I know.” He rubs at his mouth and I hear the scratch of day-old stubble. “We found the broken zip ties, along with some blood. But there was no sign of her.”
“Wonderful.” Now there’s an orange-haired assassin on the loose with a grudge against me. Just another Saturday.
I look at him. “All right. So I have one last bone to pick with you.”
His dark brows flick upward. “What?”
“This.” I gesture at the lawn brimming with rescued hostages. “I thought me being here was a coincidence. It wasn’t.”
His expression smooths out into neutrality. “What are you saying?”
“You knew,” I say. “You knew there was a mole in ISD, that someone was working with Vale. I’ll buy that you didn’t know ISD had her kids, but you knew we had something on Vale and it was stashed here. That’s why you sent me to a motel with a dead raccoon in the tub. I bet you even put it there beforehand.” The thought of Prefect chucking a dead raccoon makes me smile. “Well, maybe not you personally, but I bet you paid someone to do it.”
“Why would I do that?” he asks, tilting his head.
Because the world is his chessboard.
And I am his knight.
“Because you wanted me to stay in this building,” I say. “You couldn’t put me here yourself without someone at ISD taking notice. But me going rogue and avoiding a terrible motel gave you plausible deniability.”
His mouth curls upward. “I’m not omnipotent,” he sayssmoothly. “How could I have ever predicted you would choose this apartment building?”
Because he knows. He knows about Nonna. I’m sure he does—he’s the type to leave no stone unturned when investigating someone. He’ll know every detail of my past. He might even have influenced ISD to have Project Persephone placed in this apartment building, knowing that I could be lured here to protect it.
Maybe.
I’m not sure if I’m that paranoid yet.
But this is what Prefect does: He places his chess pieces on the board and hopes for the best.
“How did you know?” I ask quietly. “That I could even handle this? Pretty big leap of faith for you.”
He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Augusta. I don’t have faith in much. But I do know this—when you put your mind to something, there’s no stopping you.”
Well, that’s the closest thing to a compliment he’s ever given me.
