Page 107 of Chameleon Killer

“Elliot was a mistake.” I’d known it before he’d ever touched me and I did it anyway. If I could take it back…

“This isn’t only about Brewster.”

“The Auditor?”

“The man invited you into an empty building at midnight, and you’re already protecting the meeting from the FBI.” He raised his eyebrows as though daring me to prove him wrong.

“I’m protecting the story.”

“You keep saying that like it makes the cost theoretical.”

I stepped closer. “You think I don’t understand the cost?”

“I think you understand everyone’s cost except yours.”

The room went silent.

Flint’s anger never erupted. That made it worse. He held it tightly enough that every word emerged with an edge polished by restraint.

“I’ve seen you walk into war zones,” he continued. “I’ve watched you stand fifty feet from an explosion because the camera needed the shot. I’ve seen you interview men who would have killed you if they thought it would improve their leverage.”

“So have you.”

“Yes.”

The word came rough.

“Then why is this different?”

“Because you don’t seem to even want me there to have your back.”

I stopped breathing.

Flint looked away first.

The board stood between us and the rest of the apartment, crowded with routes, contingencies, and proof of how much he had done while I slept.

“You want me hidden this time,” he said. “Close enough to help if something goes wrong. Far enough that he believes you chose him.”

The last two words came out like he’d ground them down along with the coffee.

“That isn’t what this is.” I wanted to swear at him. But he had to understand.

“Then tell me what it is.”

An interview.

A source meeting.

A trap.

A test.

A chance to speak to the only man who seemed to understand why Colin and Guy did not fit.

None of those answers explained why the invitation felt personal.

Or why Flint’s objection did too.