Savio Lenrog.
Not a gang leader like Ron Sanchez pretending at power with stolen bravado and theatrical cruelty. Lenrog operates differently. Organized. Patient. Connected. Half the vice flowing through Vedder City touches his network eventually. Smuggling. Protection rackets. Gambling. Labor extortion. Information brokerage. Black-market military salvage. Men like Lenrog survive because they understand systems better than politicians do.
More importantly, they understand leverage.
“I am not interested,” I say.
The representative inclines his head slightly, as though I have commented on weather. “Mr. Lenrog anticipated reluctance.”
“I do not work for Lenrog.”
“No one suggested employment.”
“Then there is no reason for a meeting.”
“There is every reason.”
The man’s eyes shift toward Evie again. Only for a second.
That is enough.
My voice drops. “Do not look at her.”
“I am looking at the situation.”
“You are making a mistake.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Lenrog believes you may prove useful.”
“I am not.”
“Former Alliance military. Vakutan heavy assault specialization. Familiar with Halo infrastructure. Respected by local populations.” His smile remains perfectly polite. “And emotionally motivated.”
Rage moves cold through my body.
He has done research.
Of course he has.
“What does Lenrog want?” I ask.
“A discussion.”
“You keep using that word.”
“Because it is accurate.”
“Men like Lenrog do not request discussions.”
The representative’s expression barely changes. “Mr. Lenrog prefers cooperation when possible.”
“And when cooperation is impossible?”
“Life becomes more complicated.”
There it is.
Not shouted. Not dramatic. Quiet threats delivered in civilized tones beneath downtown lights while hover traffic glitters overhead and civilians laugh ten meters away.
