I turn back. He's still standing by the conference table, his expression unreadable.
"You contributed well tonight," he says. "The intelligence aboutthe fighting rings, that's exactly the kind of insight we need. Different perspective, different knowledge base."
"Thank you."
"Tomorrow night's assignment may seem simple, but it matters. Donor vetting is critical to maintaining the network's integrity. One bad actor can compromise everything."
"I understand."
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, like he's weighing whether to say something else. Then he just nods. "Get some rest. Study the file. Be ready."
"I will be."
I leave the conference room and make my way back to my quarters, my mind already spinning through what I learned tonight.
The inner circle is larger than I realized, seven core members plus Maximus and Marcellus, with Elena managing the human side of operations. Everyone has their role, their specialty. And they work together with the kind of efficiency that comes from years, maybe centuries, of practice.
Marcellus is still suspicious of me. That was clear in how he phrased the assignment, the warnings about not trying to be a hero. He's testing me, watching for any sign I might be compromised.
But the others seemed more accepting. Nadia acknowledged my honesty. Julian approved of my directness. And Maximus…
I push that thought away. He's my employer. My leader. The ancient vampire who saved my life and is now testing whether I'm worth the investment.
Nothing more complicated than that.
I reach my room and pull up the file Marcellus sent. Clara Ellis's information fills the screen: photos, employment records,and background check results. I settle onto the bed and start reading, committing details to memory.
Tomorrow night, I will prove I can handle solo operations.
Tomorrow night, I will show them I'm more than just a fighter who got lucky.
Tomorrow night, I will take the first real step toward earning my place in this world.
I study until dawn pulls me toward dormancy, Clara Ellis's face and story burned into my memory.
Time to show them what I can do.
Chapter
Ten
Iam not watching the security feed.
I am reviewing tactical reports at my desk, as I do every night. The fact that one of the monitors happens to display a tracker moving through East Atlanta is coincidental. Routine. The kind of standard oversight any commander would maintain for a solo operative in neutral territory.
The lie tastes bitter even in my own mind.
Celeste left the compound at precisely 9 p.m. Dark jeans, leather jacket, hair pulled back in a way that exposes the line of her neck. I watched her cross the grounds from this very window, her stride confident, her shoulders squared against whatever the night might bring.
She looked like a warrior going to war. She looked like she belonged here.
She looked like something I have no right to want.
I force my attention back to the supply reports. Donor retention rates. Blood quality metrics. The endless administrativemachinery that keeps my network running. Numbers and logistics and problems I know how to solve.
Not like the problem currently moving through the Decatur streets, her tracker blinking steadily on my screen, a rhythm I'd memorized without meaning to.
My phone buzzes. I reach for it too quickly, and the eagerness of the motion irritates me.
