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The look of disapproval she’d given him hinted he’d be giving a further explanation later. For now, she thought best not to push him. He’d only agreed to let her tag along on a job after she’d promised to do as he said.
If she were being honest, a part of her craved to see the daily life of Ronin, the boss of the Blood Heretics. That part of him was still a mystery to her she desired to know on a deeper level.
“Naia,” he hissed. “Glamor. Now.”
At three in the morning, the establishment was empty, aside from the older woman behind the bar. Naia didn’t understand his order, but his tone left no room for question.
She inhaled a large breath, filling her lungs. With it, she envisioned her features thinning out, her lashes darkening, her complexion dulling, and the green in her irises dimming to a more natural shade.
Naia turned her head to Ronin for approval.
He nodded once, the motion brisk. His eyes didn’t linger on her for long, and that made her uneasy. He kept scanning the room carefully, his gaze consistently jumping back to the entrance of the bar. It was a small assurance he wasn’t expressing any nervous ticks. The second he started cracking his knuckles, she’d give her anxiety full permission to run wild.
Naia picked up her glass of beer and held it up to her nose. “What are we here for?” she asked in a hushed tone.
The bell strapped on the front door jingled and a well-built man stepped through with ginger locks in a side part, dressed in a tight, blue blazer. His thin, passive eyes held on Ronin and Naia as he approached their table.
He took a seat across from Naia, acknowledging Ronin with a look. “Mr. Kahale.”
Ronin crossed his arms, his expression arranged in a way Naia had never seen before. Nonchalant, with a distinct edge to his eyes, fixated on the man.
“What do you have for me?” Ronin asked.
Naia relaxed her own uptight expression to mirror Ronin’s chill demeanor—despite her heart rate thumping in her throat.
“No pleasantries first?” The man’s gaze cut to Naia. His skin was as smooth as the shell of an egg beneath his well-groomed beard. He tilted his head. “You said you would come alone.”
“Plans change,” Ronin replied. “Now, you’ve got two minutes to talk, or I’m out.”
Naia gulped down the horrible, carbonated beverage, overwhelmed with the urge to diverge the man’s attention from her. She forced herself not to make a face. The beer was flavorless compared to Ronin’s. No malt, no hops. Nothing.
The man’s snake-like eyes loitered on her for a beat too long, making her skin crawl.
He returned his gaze back to Ronin, propping his elbows up on the table and joining his hands together. “No deities have entered the city.”
Naia’s gaze flitted to Ronin. Beneath his cool exterior he’d presented to her in Avi’s potion room, he was worried enough to seek information on her behalf.
She understood now what the job was. This strange man was an informant, and Ronin was fishing for information on Marina and Solaris’s presence in the city.
Naia sat her beer back on the table, staring at the sapphire gemstone ring on the man’s index finger. She knew little of gemstones and their magical properties, only what she’d seen from Ronin.
“You’re sure?” Ronin asked, his voice solid, calm.
The man nodded in confirmation before settling his attention back on Naia. “She, however, is a face I do not recognize.” He leaned in slightly, an unsettling smile pulling the corners of his mouth up. “What is your name?”
“She’s a friend,” Ronin answered curtly. “Now, is that all?”
The man stared at Ronin for a beat, licking his lips. “For now.”
“If you hear anything in the meantime, reach out. I’ll pay you double.” Ronin stood up from his chair, the legs scraping against the hardwood. He slid his topped-off beer across the table to the man. Liquid sloshed out.
Ronin dug a wad of cash out of his pocket and tossed it next to the frothy glass. “Thanks for your services.”
Naia stood up with him, but the man jerked up and caught her by the wrist. Her body stiffened.
He invaded her space, inspecting her face closely. “Interesting.”
Naia’s heart felt as if it had stopped. Ronin had specifically told her to put on her glamor for a reason. It didn’t feel right—safe—how this man knew of her identity.
