Page 25 of Claimed By the Wraiths

He sat down slowly.

“You decoded the buried protocol.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the one you get.”

His hands flattened on the table.

The gesture was familiar. I did the same thing when I needed something solid under me.

“I didn’t design the operation.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t choose the shipments.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because none of that is the question.”

He looked at me.

“I need your diplomatic-routing access.”

“No.”

Immediate. Flat.

That was better than the confession I’d expected. Resistance meant there was something real underneath it.

“The routing access is individualized,” he said. “Every privileged handshake is logged. If those credentials are used against this network, there is no version where my cooperation stays theoretical.”

“Your name is already in the traffic.”

“My name.” He leaned forward. “Mine. For twelve years I have kept my family outside this. No access to my work. No names in my private channels. No favors. Nothing anyone could use to pull them in.”

There it was.

“If I give you the codes, I stop being a compromised liaison and become a source. That changes what happens to everyone attached to me.”

“I can’t promise you it won’t.”

His jaw tightened.

“I can’t promise you a pardon either,” I said. “Or a quiet retirement. Or that people you love won’t learn exactly what you did.”

“That’s your pitch?”

“No. My pitch is that the evidence is coming out anyway.”