She stepped through. She did not thank me. She was irritated with me, though I was unsure what, specifically. The correction, the blocking, the escorting, or the fact that I had been correct.
All were reasonable candidates.
The dining room was already half-full. Yuki sat at the head table, pale hair pinned at the nape of her neck, expression mild in the way that unsettled people who did not know better. Two elders to her right. Three liaisons. The ambassador’s assistant. A press secretary from State. Two trade analysts who smelled of ink, nerves, and hotel soap.
No Norwegians yet. They’d arrive in two days, if the schedule held.
I delivered Cordero to her assigned seat. She glanced at the card before sitting. Catalina Cordero. State Department translator. Mandarin/Norwegian.
I took my seat four chairs down and across, the position that gave me the best sightline to the door and to her at once.
Yuki noticed. Yuki noticed everything, though she said nothing.
Dinner began.
I ate the food I was given. I drank the water I was poured. I did not look at Cordero across the table for any longer than needed, which was constantly and not nearly often enough.
She played her role well. Too well.
She translated a question from one of the trade analysts into Mandarin for an aide near Yuki, then softened the response back into English without losing the point or making anyone at the table feel corrected. She spoke when spoken to and disappeared when the conversation did not require her. That was harder than most people thought. Humans had an astonishing need to occupy space with noise.
Cordero did not. She made silence look intentional.
Leland, the ambassador’s assistant, leaned toward her during the second course. “I heard you were in Tromsø before this.”
Her fork paused, barely. “Yes,” she said. “Briefly.”
“How did you find it?”
“Cold.”
He laughed. She smiled as if she had meant to be charming.
She had not answered the question.
Leland, having survived one answer without understanding it, attempted another. “I’ve always wanted to go. The light, mostly. I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Cordero said. “When it decides to show up.”
That answer pleased him. It should not have irritated me. The man had done nothing except ask harmless questions and laugh at the wrong parts. I reminded myself that removing the ambassador’s assistant from the table would complicate dinner.
Mara Voss, a clan elder, turned her attention to Cordero during the third course. Everyone noticed. It would have been difficult not to. Mara did not look at people casually. She selected them.
“Ms.Cordero,” she said. “Do human translators study clan etiquette as part of diplomatic preparation now?”
Every human at the table went still.
Cordero finished setting down her glass before she answered. Not rushed. Not deferential. Perfectly polite. “Yes.”
Mara’s eyes narrowed. “And did your preparation cover why visitors are advised not to run?”
A better-trained human would have laughed nervously. A worse-trained one would have lied. Cordero did neither. “Enough to understand that if I need to run, several things have already gone wrong.”
Silence settled over the table. Three human heartbeats picked up. Not Cordero’s.
Mara leaned back. “And if a shifter runs?”
Cordero met her gaze for exactly long enough to be respectful and not long enough to be a challenge.
