Page 78 of Dead Drop

He doesn't argue. He goes first.

He lands at the territorial boundary—the gouged line of bark that marks the edge of his claim. Nine feet of crimson muscle, crown horns, wings half-spread. The Ordained attendants stop walking. Brother Lief doesn't.

The contrast is something I wasn't prepared for. Corvin and Lief—both products of the same mutation, the same asteroid, the same chemical event that rewrote every man on the planet. One became this: massive, winged, apex. The other became that: sallow and stooped, his too-long arms folded inside whitesleeves, his body a rough draft the mutation crumpled up and tossed aside. Lief is six-two, maybe six-three. He looks like a child's stick figure standing in front of a cathedral.

I climb down behind Corvin. The bark is rough under my hands, the climbing hook he carved for me catching on the branch ridges. I drop the last six feet and land on the canopy floor. The impact jars my knees. My body is still putting itself back together.

I step out from behind Corvin.

Brother Lief's smile when he sees me is identical to the one from the council meeting. Three and a half weeks ago, that smile sat across a table from me while he explained why the offerings were necessary. Why the Cages served everyone's interests. Why cooperation was the only realistic option for a settlement of New Reach's size. That smile hasn't changed.

I have.

"Ada." His voice is warm. Modulated. The voice of someone who has practiced sounding concerned. "We've been looking for you. The settlement was worried."

"The settlement was raided," I say. "Twelve people died. You know this because your people did it."

The smile doesn't waver. "The security action was regrettable. Unsanctioned elements within our administrative?—"

"Lief." I cut him off. I don't use the Brother. "Why are you here."

He adjusts. The smile firms up. The attendants behind him shift—not scared, not exactly, but aware. Corvin hasn't moved. He is the largest, most dangerous thing in the clearing, standing slightly behind me, and he's very still.

"The claiming is irreversible," Lief says. Reasonable. Measured. "We accept that. We're not here to retrieve you."

"Then what."

"An opportunity." He steps forward. One step. His sandal crunches on dead leaves. "You are, Ada, the most successful claiming in this grid in over a decade. A fighter-class female, matched to the Apex territory—the Ordained's records don't have a parallel.

We'd like to present your claiming as a model. A demonstration that the process works as intended. That the pairing serves both parties."

He wants a poster girl. He wants me to stand in front of the Cages, smile, tell the women inside that this is what it looks like when the system works. That the three weeks of forced mating, the pregnancy, the addiction—all features, not costs.

"No," I say.

"The benefits to New Reach would be considerable. Full protection guarantee. Medical supplies. Agricultural?—"

"No."

"Ada." The warmth in his voice goes patient. The patience of someone who explains things to children. "Your settlement lost twelve people in a raid that wouldn't have occurred under a full cooperation agreement. We can prevent?—"

"You caused the raid," I say. My voice is flat. The wall voice. The voice that carries across fifty feet of reinforced concrete to a squad of fighters who need to hear every word. "You came for Petra because she was on your list. Your people breached the north wall. Twelve dead because the Ordained needed one more body for the Cages."

His smile is still there. Thinner now. Holding.

"I will give you one piece of information for free," I tell him. "I have spent three weeks in the Apex's territory. I have mapped his borders from the air. I know the canopy routes, the patrol schedules, and the location of every territorial marker in this grid. I also know that the Stained are running raids on matedpairs, which means your venom supply line is leaking, which means your Cages are bleeding stock."

His smile goes very still.

"I am offering you nothing," I say. "I am telling you what I know so that when I start using it, you won't be able to say you weren't warned. If the Ordained come near New Reach again—near my people, near my fighters, near anyone in this grid who doesn't want to be in a Cage—I will make it my purpose to dismantle every operation you run in this territory. I know how your routes work. I know where your supply caches are. And I am mated to the thing that holds this territory."

I don't look at Corvin. I don't need to. His presence behind me is the period at the end of the sentence.

Brother Lief holds the smile for another three seconds. Then it drops. What's underneath it isn't anger—anger would be simpler, something I could meet head-on and outwork. It's strategy. I know that look. I've seen it on every officer who's been told something they don't want to hear and is already planning three moves ahead.

The Ordained don't lose. They adjust. They recalculate. They come back with a different angle and the same serene smile.

"We'll be in touch," he says. His voice is still warm. Still modulated. The smile comes back, thinner, and he turns. The attendants follow—white robes disappearing into the green undergrowth, torches bobbing, their sandals fading into the morning noise of the canopy. The mist closes around them. They're gone.