Lenrog turns his head slightly. “She is correct.”
Ron swallows. “And for the old woman.”
Evie steps half a pace forward, and I move with her instinctively. “Her name is Darlene.”
His face twists.
Lenrog says, “Use it.”
Ron’s voice drops. “For assaulting Darlene.”
Evie’s chin lifts. “You tell her yourself when she’s ready to see your face without throwing soup.”
One of Lenrog’s guards makes the mistake of almost smiling.
Ron sees it.
That is the moment I know this is not done.
The apology ends. Lenrog dismisses his men with a small gesture, but he does not release Ron immediately. He steps closer to him, close enough that father and son stand in the same pool of amber light.
“You will leave Halo tonight,” Lenrog says.
Ron goes very still. “What?”
“You will go to the west district warehouse under Arturo’s supervision. You will remain there until I decide what use can be made of you.”
“You’re exiling me from my own territory?”
“You have no territory.”
Ron’s eyes shine with fury. “You gave me Halo.”
“I allowed you to manage a corner of rot and see whether you could keep it from stinking worse.” Lenrog’s face hardens. “You failed.”
“You can’t just take it.”
“I can take your name from every mouth in this city before dawn if I choose.”
The room cools.
Ron’s hands curl at his sides. “You wouldn’t.”
Lenrog studies him. “Do not force me to learn what I would do.”
For the first time tonight, Ron looks truly wounded.
Not because of Evie. Not because of me. Because Lenrog has touched the single place in him that still bleeds like a child’s: the desire to matter to the man who made him.
Then Ron’s gaze slides toward me.
Something black and bright moves behind his eyes.
“You picked him,” he says.
Lenrog’s expression stills. “No.”
“You did. You picked the freak from the drains over me.”
