Page 193 of The Next Lie

Nash takes Reva into a dance. I nearly move before I stop myself.

He is supposed to. That was the plan. Stay visible. Give the room a story they understand. Blackwood escorting a beautiful woman at a society event. Nothing to see. Nothing to fear. The earpiece in my ear remains silent, except for the low static of the channel Ever is monitoring outside.

Reva follows Nash’s lead well enough. Better than I expected. He keeps one hand at her waist, the other holding hers, body angled so he can see behind her shoulder. She looks up at him once, says something, and Nash almost smiles.

Isabel watches from the receiving line, and I step into her line of sight. Instead of moving her head, her eyes lift to mine.

“Deacon,” she says. “You are blocking the entertainment.”

“Sorry.” I’m not sorry. I don’t move. “Why did you bring her here? What’s the plan?”

She laughs, a little tinkle of sound. “Oh, you are amusing. Do you really think you still have my confidence, after everything?”

I stare at her, at the look of smug satisfaction spreading across her face. “The granddaughter I told you to kill is waltzing across that ballroom floor, very much alive. There aren’t many explanations for that, other than you betrayed me, or you fucked up, Deacon.”

She lifts a soft, manicured palm, and pats my cheek. I remain silent.

“I sincerely hope it’s that you simply fucked up. I can make your punishment a bit less painful if that’s what it was. But make no mistake, I will find out what happened fifteen years ago.”

I swallow back everything I want to say and force myself to stand ramrod straight. “I promise I will take care of the matter, ma’am.”

“That is why this disappoints me.” She lifts one hand and brushes an invisible speck from my lapel. The gesture looks affectionate to anyone watching. “I can’t trust you to do that for me anymore, Deacon. Now I am forced to do your job for you.”

The ballroom keeps moving behind me. Music. Laughter. Glasses. Silk over skin.

Nothing changes.

Everything changes.

My breath stays even by force alone.

Isabel steps back, her smile returning as a couple approaches to greet her. “Try to enjoy the evening, Deacon. It may be one of the last uncomplicated ones any of us have.”

Then she turns away, dismissing me.

Warning me. Sentence passed. For a moment, I do not move.

I stand in a ballroom built on old money and older sins, wearing her earpiece, her approval revoked, her order confirmed.

If I want to gain her trust back, get back in her good graces, I’m going to have to kill Reva.

Not that I would, but it’s not implied any longer. Not wrapped in philosophy about mistakes. Not hidden behind the language of loose ends and old stories.

The order is alive again. Worse, she fully suspects I will oppose it.

That means she’s not going to move through me if she can avoid it. She will move around me. Through the spaces I cannot fill. Through society doors and old favors, servants, drivers, mask makers, perfume, wine, flowers, gifts, invitations. Through every soft opening rich people pretend cannot bleed.

I look across the ballroom.

Reva has stepped out of the dance with Nash. She stands near the far wall, gold mask catching the light, mouth set, eyes searching the room.

She finds me. For one second, I let her see too much. Her expression behind the mask changes. Then Nash says something, and her attention snaps back to him.

That’s good. Stay with him. Stay visible. Stay alive.

The earpiece crackles, and Ever’s voice comes through, low and controlled. “Deacon.”

I touch two fingers lightly to the device. “I’m here.”