Page 175 of The Next Lie

I step onto the mat. “I made something.”

Reva wipes her forearm across her forehead. “That sentence could go in a lot of directions.”

I hold out the pouch.

She takes it, watching me instead of the object, then loosens the drawstring and tips the hairpin into her palm.

Her expression shifts, and her breath leaves in a little sigh. It bothers me that she likes it. It bothers me more that I made it pretty on purpose.

“A rose,” she says.

I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s actually a small camera. It has audio. And a secondary location signal.”

The softness disappears from her face.

Shiloh’s brows lift. “Ever, darling, you do know most men open with how nice it would look in her hair.”

“She knows what it is.”

“Yes, but occasionally we pretend to be civilized.”

Reva rolls the pin between her fingers. “You want me to wear this to the masquerade.”

“Yes.”

“So you can watch.”

“So I can see what Nash can’t.”

“And hear.”

“Yes.”

Her gaze stays on mine. “In case something happens.”

“In case anything happens.”

The words come out too hard.

I hear it. So does she.

Shiloh steps closer, voice lighter but careful. “It’s a good piece. Elegant, discreet, only mildly terrifying.”

Reva ignores him. “You’re scared.”

“No.”

She gives me a look. I close my mouth. Bad lie. No reason to stick with it.

“Yes.”

Her hand closes around the pin. “Ever.”

“I will be outside the venue with Shiloh. Deacon will have men placed two blocks out, assuming he does not decide to ignore the plan and make himself a bigger problem. We don’t know yet if Deacon will be…inside…with Mother. Nash will be inside with you. The chip stays active. The pin gives me eyes and ears. If signal drops, if your pulse spikes, if you say the wrong word, if you disappear from feed for more than twenty seconds⁠—”

“Breathe,” Shiloh says.

I stop. My jaw hurts.