He doesn't say anything. He just sits there being a plant, which is honestly the most supportive thing anyone's done for me today.
"I touched his arm," I say. "On purpose. And he put his hand over mine and then walked away like it meant nothing, and now I'm in a biker compound in the middle of some kind of cartelsituation talking to a spider plant." I touch one of his leaves. "This is fine. Everything is fine."
Kevin remains nonjudgmental. I appreciate that.
A knock at the door. One of the prospects—young, a little nervous around the eyes. "Prez says you can move to the operations room if you want. Stay where we can see you."
I'm on my feet before he finishes the sentence. I grab Kevin, wanting to show him around.
The operations room smells like coffee and electronics and the same gun oil that seems to coat every surface in this building. Screens cover the walls. Camera feeds, maps, what looks like shipment logs with a lot of red on them. Mace is at the long table with three laptops open. Ghost stands against the far wall in the specific way that means he's watching everything and will continue watching everything until someone tells him to stop or he dies.
Kraken is at the center console with his back to the door.
He doesn't turn around when I walk in, but his shoulders shift slightly. He knows I'm here.
I take a chair without being told. I place Kevin on the small table beside me. Small victories.
"I'll be very quiet," I say to the room. "Ninja levels of quiet."
Ghost glances at me, looks at Kevin and then back at me. His expression doesn't move but something behind his eyes does.
Mace keeps typing.
Kraken still hasn't turned around.
The room hums with low conversation—names, timestamps, a van with no plates, Finn's Miami connection. I listen and trace small circles on the armrest and try to look like I'm not paying close attention, which I absolutely am. The camera dropout keeps snagging in my mind. Eleven minutes. Scheduled. I drew the whole thing out on a napkin and Kraken took it and saidI'll have someone look at itin the tone of someone filing a thing in a drawer they never open.
I watch him at the screens. His jaw is set. His hands move over the console with the efficiency of someone who's been doing this a long time. He's good at this… the command of it, the way the other men calibrate to his attention without being told to. He's built something here that actually functions. I can respect that and also find it extremely irritating when he dismisses me in front of it.
The prospect comes in pale-faced. Movement on the west fence. Camera dropout.
The room snaps to. Kraken's eyes find me first, and then he's moving. "Ghost. Mace. With me." He points at me on his way out. "Stay."
I stay.
For about forty-five seconds.
Then I get up and cross to the main console. “I won't touch anything. Honest. I”ll just look,” I tell Kevin.
He judges me. I don’t blame him.
The feeds cycle through the perimeter cameras across grass, the fence, palm trees, and the dark strip of road beyond the gate.I find the west camera and watch it. Normal. Normal. Normal. Then a flicker—barely a second—and normal again.
I look at the timestamp in the corner.
I spot my napkin on the table. It’s crumpled, but I grab it anyway. I check my calculations against the timestamp.
Eleven minutes. On the dot.
I'm still standing there when boots sound in the hallway and Kraken fills the doorway. His shirt is damp at the collar. There's a tension in him that wasn't there before. His eyes go to me at the console and his expression sharpens.
"I said stay in the chair."
"I didn't touch anything." I hold up the napkin. "Eleven minutes. Again. Just now. I timed it."
He crosses the room and takes it from my hand. Studies it. His jaw works.
Mace comes in behind him, looks at the napkin over his shoulder. Something passes between them.
