Page 15 of The Crime Lord's Possession
They’ve never triggered a safeguard. Never tripped a monitor. Months of leaks, burned operatives, and compromised cells, and not once have they left a fingerprint obvious enough to follow. This intrusion woke every security system in the architecture. Every alert. Every trace protocol. The intruder practically announced herself.
The breach was never the danger.
The danger came afterward.
I pulled the human through a window and put her to work. Nobody outside this room has any idea she’s here. Resh and I are the only ones who know who she really is. That decision exists nowhere in the House records. On paper, these are two unrelated events: a failed intrusion from the Splits and a routine contractor brought into the Warrens. No reason for anyone to connect them.
Until someone does.
The moment they place those pieces side by side, Miro stops being a ghost. And if the person asking that question is the same one who found Selin, then I’ve just painted a target on her back.
I surface to find Resh still watching me, patient in the way he gets when my attention has gone somewhere he can’t follow.
“The human female’s capabilities are exactly what we need,” I say.
“You trust her?”
“I trust that she’s motivated. The alternative to working for me is the Splits.” I close the intelligence map. “People will do remarkable things when they want something badly enough.”
My thoughts drift briefly to the eight-by-ten room, the failing equipment, the six cartridges she had left, and the way she’d looked at that datapad as though losing it would cost her a limb.
“She didn’t break into my systems because she was curious. She did it because she needed a way out, and she was willing to risk her life to get one.” I meet Resh’s gaze. “That kind of motivation is useful. And her competence is the most impressive thing I’ve encountered in years.”
Resh nods.
“Brief the inner ring. Rotate every operative with exposure to the compromised cells. Harden the field procedures and retrace every point of contact.” Selin’s name sits heavy in my chest. I promised to keep her safe and I failed. “I’ll handle the audit. Quietly. And if anyone asks what the human female in the residential tier is doing, the answer is ventilation calibration. Nothing more.”
As though pulled by an invisible cord, I find myself heading back toward her quarters the moment Resh and I part ways.
The food arrives as I reach her corridor, carried by a servant from the kitchens. I take the tray from him and dismiss him before he can ask questions. A glance over the containers confirms what I requested. Protein. Fresh fruit. Vegetables. Actual food instead of the processed ration blocks sold in the lower districts.
The tea concentrate sits in a sealed flask at the edge of the tray. The addition made sense at the time. I’d tasted cheap tea leaves on her scent, and people tend to appreciate familiar comforts when everything else in their lives has been stripped away. A contractor who eats properlyworks more effectively. A contractor who sleeps properly makes fewer mistakes.
That’s what I’m telling myself anyway.
The door unlocks beneath my biometric seal. I step inside and stop. The room has changed.
Percy’s holographic display fills the workspace, casting shifting blue light across the walls. The integrated terminals have been repositioned. Cables now run across the desk in patterns that appear chaotic until I follow them long enough to recognize an underlying order.
The human female sits cross-legged in the desk chair, shoes abandoned somewhere beneath the workstation. Her bare feet are tucked beneath her, and the ceramic mug rests within easy reach of her right hand. Fresh steam curls from the cup.
Her glasses are pushed into her hair. Her fingers move rapidly across the interface. For a moment she doesn’t notice me. Then she looks up. Her concentration vanishes and something harder settles into its place.
Anger.
Held tight enough that most people would miss it. “You locked me in.”
“I did.”
“I’m not a prisoner.”
“You’re an uncleared contractor in a facility that houses intelligence operations, three levels below a man who would reclassify you as property if he discovered your capabilities.” I set the food containers on the desk beside Percy. I shook my head. I was calling her datapad by his — its — name. “The lock is temporary. The consequences of others finding you aren’t.”
A flush climbs her throat and her eyes gleam. She’s furious. Glorious with it. The anger burns hot for a moment, then something underneath it shifts. She turns the problem over in her head, searchingfor a flaw in my reasoning, and when she fails to find one, the change reaches me in the chemistry of her scent.
Bitter.
Reluctant.
