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Tristan turned his head, guilt sparking in his eyes. “Ignorant doesn’t mean idiot. You’re studying Spanish and French, just like every workborn who wants to get ahead.”
Lila poked at Dixon again, careful not to hit the same spot as before. “We should return to the oracle’s compound,” she whispered.
Dixon nodded reluctantly.
Her laptop beeped as she powered it down. She slipped it and Dixon’s tablet into her satchel before striding to his room. She changed quickly into trousers, boots, and her gray coat. Dixon dressed while she slipped her tranq gun into her pocket.
When they reentered the living room, Katia was very interested in the tablet on her lap. Lila hitched her satchel higher on her shoulder and started for the door.
Tristan blocked her path. “I know my brother’s moods,” he hissed under his breath. “There’s been a light in his eyes that hasn’t been there in a long time. I know what that means.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t want to see him get hurt.”
“Not that it’s any business of yours, but there is nothing going on between Dixon and I. There never has been.”
“Are you sure?” His nose lingered a centimeter from her face, and his voice grew cold. “That’s a nice bracelet. I’ve never seen him take it off before.”
“He gave it to me.”
“I’m sure he did. Whatever you’re doing to him, stop. I don’t want you screwing with his mind. Find someone else to play with instead, or I swear to the gods, you’ll regret it.”
Her fingers strayed to her tranq. It wasn’t his words that had pushed her to reach for her gun. It was the intention behind them, the tenseness in his shoulders, the clenched fists at his sides.
“Your brother can make his own decisions.”
Dixon eyed her hand. He worked his body between them, and Tristan backed away.
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You and Katia should order that pizza now, Dixon wrote on his notepad, flashing it to his brother.
“Don’t tell us what to do.”
Dixon held his hands up.
Lila didn’t take her hand off her tranq. The cold metal comforted her. “We’re not telling you what to do. We’re just busy.”
“And leaving, apparently. I can’t believe you’re picking a woman over your own brother, Dixon. Not just a woman. One of them.”
One of me, Dixon reminded him.
“Not you. You’re different. I’ve told you that a thousand times.”
Dixon stuffed his notepad into his back pocket.
“Are you really leaving with her and going back there?”
Dixon put his hand up, stopping Tristan from moving closer. His fingers grazed his brother’s chest.
Tristan frowned at the contact and shoved Dixon back several steps. “Don’t touch me.”
In response, Dixon drew himself up to his full height. Lila had seen such displays in workborn bars, the bass booming over clinking mugs of beer and loud guffaws. She’d spied it in urine-drenched alleys, filled with empty crates and makeshift weapons. She’d witnessed it in padded rings in abandoned warehouses, a chorus of shouting workborn surrounding the mats, fists raised as they cheered on their favorite fighter.
Katia stood up, wringing her hands. “Stop it.”
Dixon ignored her. He stepped forward and shoved his brother back.
