Page 87 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

“Then we use the stop signal. Three strikes on bone, not metal. Merra drops bitter-root smoke. Syin cuts the salt line behind us. Renn collapses the false channel brace if I call it. No one improvises with blades near active green. No one bleeds on anything interesting.”

Renn lifts one hand. “I enjoy that this rule has become part of our civic structure.”

“It should have been on the wall years ago,” I say, half a grin on my face just to piss off all the bad luck and shitty destiny that’s piling up around us.

Rhazek’s mouth shifts. Barely. The ghost of a smile that clearly escaped from somewhere guarded and will be punished later. The sight knocks the next breath sideways in my chest.

Damn you. Damn me more.

Adran taps the slate. “You are building this around your ability to misdirect the map.”

“Yes,” I agree.

“That makes you part of the bait.”

Rhazek rises so fast that the stool falls over and the sound cracks across the chamber.

Every guard reaches for a weapon. Syin half-turns. Visidion’s wings flare wider, a shadow thrown over the table. The sphere clicks once, delighted by the sudden blade-edge of the room.

Rhazek doesn’t look at any of them. He glares at Adran, his hands curling into fists and his chest heaving with every fast, sharp breath.

“Do not call her that.”

His voice is quiet, which is worse than a shout. The green under his throat burns brighter. The hook responds to that protectiveness, and I feel the answering pulse through the connection between us.

Rhazek feels it too. He clenches his jaw. He glares, then turns and picks up the stool and lowers himself with brutal care, like every inch of movement is a fight with something that wants to make him prove the wrong thing.

I make myself breathe.

Once.

Not pause. Not again. My rhythm. Mine.

“Everyone stop feeding the evil invisible listener,” I say.

Renn exhales. Ila mutters something that sounds like a prayer and an insult braided together. Merra reaches over and flicks the copper bowl with one gnarled fingernail.

“Behave,” she tells it.

The absurdity makes me snort and several others in the room chuckle too. I turn to Adran.

“I’m handling the route. Rhazek is handling the hook. That doesn’t make either of us bait.”

Adran holds my gaze, and for once he has no polished argument ready. He is afraid. I know that look. I’ve carried the cheaper version through ration halls for years.

“If this fails,” he says, softly, “the City may not get a second chance.”

He’s pale and his breath is shallow. Despite the fear in the depths of his eyes he holds my gaze steadily.

“I know.”

“If this succeeds, the City may still blame him.”

My eyes burn. I hate him a little for saying it so plainly. I hate him more because I need someone in this room to have said it.

“Then the City can get in line behind me,” I say.

Rhazek’s gaze drops to the floor. There. Hurt. Real, quick, gone under armor before anyone else can use it.