Page 86 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

“No,” I snap.

He looks genuinely tired now, which would be moving if I had not been running on spite and stale water for most of my adult life.

“What more do you require?”

“Limits. Witnesses. A route back. A stop signal. An agreed point where we cut the plan instead of cutting him. No locked door. No closed-room decision. No one touches the hook without Merra. No one uses bond response, source response, or whatever this is between us as a shortcut.”

The last words leave too fast.

Whatever this is between us.

There. On the table. Glowing faintly beside the copper sphere like another stupid proof packet waiting for hungry eyes.

Rhazek does not react. That is almost worse. He only watches me with a focus so intense I feel it in the soles of my feet.

Rosalind says, “Good. Then name the plan.”

Of course she says that. Not because she’s handing it to me as kindness. Because she’s observant enough to see that I’m already running the routes in my head. She not only knows it, she’s counting on it.

Damn it. I feel small. Small and stupid like I was manipulated into this position. If anyone did this, though, it was me. Me and my damn mouth I didn’t quit running. I inhale through my nose and make myself look at the slate spread across the table instead of at Rhazek.

“The local listener already has a line into Rhazek, but it still needs stronger proof. Right now, it has partial data from the map, partial source response, and too much of Rhazek, but they already had him.” I touch one edge of the slate with two fingers, near the canyon mark. “If we spoof Rhazek being moved toward the source, it will probably pull harder through the blood relay.”

Syin’s eyes narrow. “Toward the source?”

“Believing is not the same as being.”

Renn grins despite the dust and exhaustion. “That is Kessa for ‘we lie to the horrible sky machine.’”

“We lie carefully to the horrible sky machine,” I say. “Just to be clear.”

Ila steps closer, already reading the angle. “Old wash tunnels.”

“Yes.” Relief flashes bright and brief. “The old wash tunnels bend under East Three, then double back below the salt stores. The partial map it got thinks that line runs closer to the lower source drains than it does because the old channel marks are wrong. If we move Rhazek along the false source line, the blood relay should pull toward it.”

Rhazek says, “And the local listener exposes its reach.”

“And we cut it before it realizes we’re not taking you anywhere useful.”

Adran leans over the slate. “Who is we?”

“Small team. Me, Rhazek, Syin, Renn. Ila coordinates inside routes. Rosalind and Visidion hold source-watch. Merra stays close enough to cut, bind, or curse at whatever tries to crawl out of him, ideally all three.”

Merra grunts. “I can do four things if properly irritated.”

“Good. Stay irritated.”

“That has never been difficult around you people.”

A few breaths in the room ease. Not much. Enough to remind me that humor is not actually a luxury in a crisis. It’s a little wedge under the door that keeps despair from sealing us in completely.

Syin studies the slate. “And if nothing follows?”

“Then it is smarter than we think and we retreat before it learns from the attempt.”

“And if it follows too well?” Rosalind asks.

I don’t look at Rhazek, but my heart speeds up and my stomach clenches tight. I resist because I refuse to make my fear another piece of proof.