Page 157 of The Rust in Her Hair

Nico

The lobby of Maleth Media is all black marble and cold white light, and even at nine at night the place is packed. Staff cross the floor with lanyards swinging. A woman argues into her phone about a graphic that missed air. A cluster of suits stands in front of a wall of muted screens where the same anchor mouths the same silent words.

"Look at all these people." Adrian tips his head back and takes in the full height of the atrium. "It's nine o'clock. Why is nobody home?"

"Twenty-four-hour news cycle," I say as I scan the lobby.

There are two cameras sitting in the ceiling coffers. One hangs over the security desk, and the other points at the elevator bank. One guard stands behind the information desk, and a second one keeps watch over the turnstiles. I mark the doors and the exits, and the lines of sight. This place is covered in cameras.

Good.

"Do you have an appointment?" The woman behind the information desk barely looks at me.

"Bennett," I say, giving Adrian a wink. He forces a smile at me, but that’s it. Fuck, he’s wound tight.

The receptionist's nails click loudly across the keys.

"Crispin Maleth is expecting us."

Her eyes narrow at the monitor. "Mr. Maleth is on thirty-five." She raises a hand, pointing toward the elevators and a guard peels off the wall. "Rico will take you up."

Adrian slides his phone out of his jacket. His thumbs move fast across the screen, and then he shoves it back into his pocket. He has been talking to Lyra all night, trying to keep her calm. But she can do this.

I know she can.

The numbers climb over the elevator doors as we head up with Rico by our side. I crack my knuckles once against my thigh.

In the blink of an eye, the elevator dings and Rico leads us out. The hallway runs long and straight, and office doors line both walls, more of them than I bother counting. Rico stops at the far end and badges us through a heavy black door.

The room on the other side is dark and loud. Dozens of people sit at long desks wearing headsets and punching keys, while monitors light their faces blue. Every one of them faces the same wall of glass where two news anchors talk to cameras on the other side, hot lights, baring down on them.

Rico walks us around the edge of the room. A few heads lift as we pass. Their eyes catch on our jeans, plain shirts, and then the dirt dried into our boots.

I’m sure they don’t get many men like us up here.

And then I see the motherfucker.

Crispin waits on the far side of another glass wall. So much damn glass. It looks like some kind of viewing room, where he can watch both the command center and what's on camera at the same time. There’s a long conference table running down the middle, and it’s all completely exposed.

Every person in this dark room will be able to see us the whole time.

Coward.

Adrian looks at me, his expression hard. I simply nod, trying like hell to reassure my nervous mate.

Rico badges us through the last door, then holds it open.

The second we step inside, Crispin turns to us and a smile fills my face.

The bruise Mack gave him at the party is still there. It’s blue and black along his jaw, sitting right over the bone.

I hope it aches every time he talks.

"That'll be all, Richie." Crispin waves a hand at the guard without looking. "Close the door on your way out."

Rico doesn't correct the fucker, he steps back and reaches for the handle, and for half a second his jaw sets hard and something tired moves through his eyes. Then he wipes it clean and pulls the door shut, leaving us alone with his boss.

"Gentlemen." Crispin smirks at Adrian as he crosses to a small glass bar cart. He pours two fingers of something amber, not offering us any. Not that we’d take it.