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Apparently, Tristan had other plans.
“No, I shouldn’t have let you break in.”
“Why? Because you couldn’t bear a hit to your perfect record, even to save a child?”
“No, because my entire family would be investigated. I’m far too good at my job for someone like you to break into my compound. It would have raised suspicions, and you know it.”
“Oracle’s light, you’re arrogant.”
“I’m not arrogant. I’m correct.”
“That’s not the real reason,” Tristan said, hopping up to pace. “I heard you speaking to your mother over the mic. You told her the robbery would force LeBeau’s to close its doors. Had a good laugh about it, even planned to open a new auction house in its—”
“I had to say something so my mother didn’t realize I was feeding you information, you nitwit. Don’t blame me for your mistakes. I told you a hundred times that you only had enough time to break out Oskar, even with Fry’s help. Somehow in your mind that translated into—”
“I couldn’t leave him there. He’s just a kid.”
“A kid who has the opportunity to work off his mark. A kid who isn’t in danger of being murdered.” An image came to Lila’s mind. The gunman’s face as he’d raised the gun to kill Oskar, his eyes fading as he died.
An image of Reaper after he’d been shot.
An image of Dixon when they couldn’t wake him.
“Yeah, I heard about what happened after we left. They keep showing it on the news. They say you saved Oskar’s life.”
Lila sat up, eyes wide. “Showing it? Showing what?”
“Showing nothing. They must have had a whole team pixilating you out in time for the evening news. It makes you even more obvious.”
Dixon scribbled on his notepad. You leapt like a flailing housecat but classier. The joke belied his face, which hadn’t twisted into his usual playful smile.
“So they have footage of it?”
Dixon nodded.
“Let me see.”
“Great. You want to revel in your newfound fame.” Tristan rolled his eyes and took another swig of his whiskey.
“No, I want to see what else was going on in the room, nitwit. I was a bit preoccupied.”
“Stop calling me nitwit.”
“Okay, jackass. Is that better?”
Tristan turned away and peered out the window.
Dixon passed Lila his palm, and she studied the shaky footage. It had likely come from a highborn’s palm or from one of the servants. Unfortunately, she saw nothing except a pixelated ghost leaping atop the gunman.
Dixon was right. Her blobby form did look like a flailing housecat, hurling itself toward the gunman, not that she’d admit it.
Gods, she hoped the Randolph militia hadn’t gotten hold of the unedited footage.
Lila scrolled the video back to the beginning and watched it through again, focusing on the would-be assassin. She saw the same look in the gunman’s eyes as before. Conviction. He truly believed that killing the boy was a necessary evil, that it was the best thing for everyone.
“He’s a loyalist for the crown,” Lila guessed, scrolling back through the footage to watch it again. “He’s not conflicted about what he’s doing. He believes.”
Dixon gave thumbs-up, and Tristan nodded. “That was our guess as well.”
