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“Can you two focus for five minutes?” I growl, already walking.
Ryven falls into step beside me, still laughing under his breath.
The streets grow rougher the farther we go. Neon signs buzz above rust-stained brick. Mechanics work beneath dangling cables. Shift sirens echo across the district as streams of miners spill through the intersections, their boots coated in red dust, lunch tins swinging at their sides.
Somewhere in all of this, Jade Mercer built a life. He walked these streets every morning, worked until his hands gave out, then went home to a brother with failing lungs.
When my slate vibrates, I grunt before I even look at it, already knowing who it is.
Dad.
Apparently, crossing half the Reach still isn’t enough for him to understand that I have no intention of meeting my fucking fiancé.
Where the fuck are you?
The Veyra delegation is here.
Your fiancé is waiting.
Answer your father, Ash.
I thumb the screen dark without replying, realizing I’ve completely lost my fucking mind. Then again, maybe I lost it the moment Dad decided to sign me over to some prince for a damn treaty, as if that’s all I was ever for.
The Lucky Strike announces itself three streets before we reach it.
Music leaks into the night between the buildings, brass and laughter spilling through open windows as neon burns gold across a façade too expensive for the surrounding district. Two men in tailored suits stand outside the entrance. Ryven slips each of them a credit chip larger than either will earn this week, and their posture shifts immediately. One pulls the door open. The other bows us inside.
Cigar smoke hangs beneath the lights. Velvet, crystal, and polished brass surround green-felt tables as cards snap between dealers’ hands. Dice tumble somewhere to our left. A live band plays above the gaming floor as dancers weave between tables, carrying glasses that cost more than most people here earn in a day.
We make it six steps before four broad-shouldered men peel away from the nearest card table and head our way.
Behind them, an older man in an immaculate cream suit rises from a private table at the back of the room. Silver threads his dark hair, and a heavy signet ring catches the light as he straightens his cuffs.
A smile spreads across his face. “Well, three new faces in my casino.” He gestures toward the empty leather chairs opposite him. “I hope you’ve come to make me richer. Join me.”
As we sit down, Ryven glances at the men surrounding us. “I do like a welcoming committee.”
Crystal appears almost immediately. Whiskey follows. No one asks whether we want either.
The older man settles back into his chair. “I’m Vasco.”
I leave the glass where it is. “I gathered.”
His smile widens. “So what can I do for you gentlemen?”
“We’re looking for a man called Jade Mercer.”
Vasco’s eyes sharpen as he repeats the name. “Jade Mercer.” He leans back. “Can’t say it means anything to me.”
But something shifts at the corner of his mouth. I know that look. Dad has worn it across enough negotiating tables.
The motherfucker knows the name. He simply has no intention of saying so for free.
“But perhaps,” Vasco says, “we’re asking the wrong question.”
I lean back in the chair. “So I heard.”
“Then you understand why I don’t simply give information away.”
