Page 196 of Reaper Said Mine

“When is he not?”

“Today he used the phrase ‘brand liability’ before nine in the morning.”

“I am going to commit a workplace incident.”

“Please don’t. Legal already hates you, and I’m too pretty for prison.”

“You are medium-pretty for journalism.”

“Cruel but motivating.”

We move toward the elevators. A few producers glance up as I pass. Recognition ripples across the lobby, followed by whispers. The Girl from Horus IV. The reporter who got Gnash. The woman whose lover killed a Combine executive in front of half the diplomatic corps. I feel every version of myself they have invented clinging to my skin like dust.

Bellamy keeps his voice low. “I have three analysts waiting off-site. One military logistics, one corporate finance, one former diplomatic counsel who drinks like a ruined poet but knows treaty language better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Good.”

“I also reached out to Senator Vale’s office.”

I stop walking.

Bellamy looks back.

“What?” he asks.

“Senator Vale hates IHC-Now.”

“Exactly. If she backs the evidence, Dawson can’t claim this is an internal network stunt.”

I stare at him for a second longer than necessary.

“You did good.”

His expression softens.

“Don’t sound so shocked. I’m capable of usefulness under sustained emotional threat.”

The elevator doors open, and we step inside.

The ride up feels too fast.

Dawson’s office occupies the top editorial floor, where the walls are transparent, the furniture is obscene, and every screen is tuned to a different measure of public appetite. Views. Shares. Sentiment. Demographic retention. Casualty interest curves. He stands near a wall display showing my face beside Gnash’s beneath the headline: HUMAN REPORTER AT CENTER OF BADLANDS CRISIS.

Ted Dawson turns as we enter.

He wears a charcoal suit cut perfectly enough to make me despise the tailor on principle. His silver hair is immaculate. His smile has the polished cruelty of a man who thinks being right and being powerful are the same thing.

“Ursa,” he says. “Our runaway star returns.”

I set my bag on the floor. “I brought evidence.”

“You brought a crisis.”

“I didn’t kill Zune.”

“No, but you attached yourself romantically to the man who did, which complicates the optics just a hair.”

Bellamy mutters, “Here we go.”