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Raven speaks again. “You don’t need my opinion right now, Archer, but I’ll give one anyway. This island has been operating in Ayana versus Port Mrei mode for some time. Tsariuk’s business brought too many undesirables and has been weakening Zion’s security for a while. There are mechanisms in motion, not the good kind, and it’s only a matter of time before everything blows up.”
Archer pinches the bridge of his nose. “So what do you suggest?”
“Move the Center elsewhere.”
Archer snorts in contempt. “It’s impossible right now. The main problem is that there are too many people at Ayana who’ve made it their home.”
“Precisely. So there’s another option—wait and see. And while we are waiting, we should get ready for the worst.”
“Which is?”
“That eventually, even the security won’t keep the Savages and Butcher’s people from trying to claim what they think belongs to them—complete control of the port, Zion’s economy, and, the cherry on top—Ayana.”
This was supposed to be Archer’s day off. But O’Shea’s incident already changed that. Cunningham is like a spider that disappeared in our bedroom. The security disaster feels like imminent doom approaching. And Archer is on edge—I can see it when he pours himself a drink in his office and sits for an hour staring at the wall.
It’s evening, and Archer tells me he has a conference call. I go home, Slate by my side, which makes me feel like I’m in some spy movie.
“This is awkward,” I say to him.
“What is?”
“You really gonna follow me everywhere?”
“That’s my job.”
“Like I said. Awkward.”
“Why?”
I laugh, then remember that Slate has been with Archer since Deene. Some people live surrounded by security at all times.
It starts raining before I even reach my bungalow. The sky darkens. I can hear the stormy ocean in the distance.
I don’t know how long Archer will take with his meetings, but I want to be with him tonight.
My phone beeps, and my eyes widen when I see the name.
Margot: I hate to rain on your parade, sweetie, but…
There’s a picture attached.
It’s Archer in a green shirt, jeans, leather jacket, and sunglasses, and some girl in a designer dress, her blond hair in a high ponytail. His arm is around her waist as she leans on him. There’s a private jet behind them.
Margot: Anna Reich is in town.
My heart gives out a heavy thud.
Archer’s ex is here?
I zoom in on the picture and notice little things. How pretty she is. Polished. Everything about her—clothes, jewelry, makeup—screams money. But I also notice Archer’s hair, which is shorter than it is right now. And the sky is cloudy but sunny.
The picture is old—the realization makes me exhale in relief, but the fact that he didn’t say anything about his ex coming makes anxiety pull at my nerves.
Of course, he doesn’t pick up his phone when I call.
I can do this. I can totally keep my cool, right?
I text Margot.
