Page 53 of Reaper Said Mine

Cal rolls his eyes. “Because they’re Reapers.”

“Because some of the ritual developed around scarcity, battle readiness, and proving a guest could remain controlled while confronted with fear and blood. Because public appetite carries social meaning here. Because refusing to understand something is easier than admitting the people you came to mock have a history.”

Niva’s expression hardens. “That is adorable. You’ve been here four days and now you’re an expert on spike etiquette.”

“No. I’ve been here four days, so I know enough to shut up and learn from people who understand it better.”

Cal looks past me toward Vesk. “Careful, Ramone. Keep defending them like that and maybe the warlord will reward you with a souvenir collar.”

Vesk moves so quickly the air seems to snap around him.

He does not touch Cal. He does not need to. One moment he stands beside me, and the next he looms over the reporter with his bone spurs catching the market light and his voice low enough to force everyone nearby to listen.

“Say that again,” Vesk says.

Cal’s face drains of color. “It was a joke.”

“It was ugly. Jokes should have craft.”

I put one hand lightly against Vesk’s forearm, not to restrain him because that would be ridiculous, but to remind the scene there are witnesses and a point beyond fear. His skin is hot beneath my palm, hard as warmed stone where no spur interrupts it. He looks down at my hand, then at me.

“I’ll handle it,” I say.

He steps back a fraction.

I face Cal. “You want to embarrass yourself tonight, go ahead. Sneer at the food. Insult the hosts. File your dramatic little piece about barbarism and pretend you were brave because dinner made you sweat. But don’t confuse contempt with intelligence. It’s lazy, and worse, it’s boring.”

Niva’s mouth twists. “You think participating will get you Gnash.”

“I think participating correctly may get me a better story than standing in the corner gagging for views.”

“So that’s what this is.”

“Yes.” I lift my chin. “That is exactly what this is. I am here to report, and I cannot report on a culture I refuse to take seriously.”

Cal recovers enough to sneer again, though he keeps a careful distance from Vesk. “You are going to make a fool of yourself.”

“Probably at some point. Most people do. The trick is choosing a better reason than arrogance.”

One of the junior aides laughs under her breath before Niva glares her into silence.

Cal adjusts his jacket with offended dignity. “Have fun with your blood homework.”

“Have fun with your obituary draft for nuance.”

Vesk makes a sound that might be suppressed laughter, and the cluster disperses with less confidence than it arrived.

I wait until they are out of earshot before exhaling. “That was satisfying.”

“You touched my arm,” Vesk says.

“I did.”

“Most humans would not.”

“Most humans didn’t spend an hour getting etiquette advice from you.”

He considers that. “Acceptable.”