Page 76 of No Charm Done

Elias stopped walking.

His heart, which had been cooperating nicely all morning, decided to stage a revolt. Burke. Here. Not theoretical, not hypothetical, but here, in a conference room twenty feet away, looking exactly as he had back in the Twenties. Maybe paler. More preserved, like something pickled. A faint shimmer clung to the old man’s outline—protection wards, probably, the kind money and paranoia bought in bulk.

Look at you. Elias stared at the old (and yet not nearly old enough) man in amazement. He’d been mentally raging at Burke for a hundred years, and now? Here he was. Just standing there. Like nothing at all. I almost got you, and I paid a hundred years for trying.

He felt Luna’s hand on his arm. Light. Grounding.

“Shaw,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”

He looked at her—at Lexi’s face with Luna’s behind it—and something in his chest unclenched. Not entirely. But enough. “I’m with you.”

“We stick to the plan.”

“I know.”

“No revenge fantasies. We play this smart.”

He wanted to argue. Wanted to remind her that Burke had killed his brother. That justice delayed was still justice. But she was looking at him with an expression that was part concern, part warning, and entirely too effective. “Fine,” he sighed.

“Thank you.”

“But if he so much as looks at you wrong⁠—”

“Shaw.”

“—I’m throwing him through that window.”

“We’re on the twelfth floor.”

“Good. He’ll have time to think about his choices on the way down.”

He saw her bite back a smile. They were okay. For now, anyway.

A young woman with a tablet and an urgent expression appeared at their elbow. “Ms. Jones? Mr. Gordon? So glad you could make it. Mr. Burke is just about to start.” She ushered them into the conference room before either could object.

Burke stood as they entered. Every muscle in Shaw’s body went on high alert. The old man’s expression was gracious, practiced, the gaze of someone who’d spent a long time learning how to pretend he gave a damn about other people.

“Ms. Jones, Mr. Gordon.” Burke’s voice was smooth as aged bourbon. “So glad you could make it. Please, sit.”

Luna took a chair near the middle of the table. Elias positioned himself across from her—close enough to signal, far enough to avoid looking too familiar.

The room was packed with rich people looking as if they’d just rolled out of bed. Soft fabrics, sneakers, no ties . . . to Elias, they all had a look of studied disrespect that he was finding hard to ignore. The screen on the wall displayed at least twenty more faces, all watching with the hungry patience of sharks circling a wounded seal.

Burke waited until everyone settled, then began.

“Gentlemen. Ladies. Thank you for joining us on such short notice.” His hands rested on the table, manicured and steady. “Ashton sends his regrets. He’s at an undisclosed location finalizing the security layers for our July Fourth demonstration. The work is . . . delicate.”

Elias watched Burke’s face, cataloging every micro-expression. The man hadn’t aged a day since Egypt. Since Frankie had handed over the linen with those hieroglyphics that promised immortality.

“Now then,” Burke continued, “as you know, CastR represents a paradigm shift in human capability. But paradigm shifts require capital. And capital requires narrative.” He nodded at Lexi and Kyle. “Which is why we’ve asked our brand consultants to join us today. Ms. Jones, Mr. Gordon—would you care to share your thoughts?”

Oh, you bastard, Elias thought. You’re testing us.

Luna’s face—Lexi’s face—remained perfectly pleasant. “Of course. We’d be delighted.”

Elias stood and walked to the head of the table like he’d been made for this moment. Which, in a way, he had.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, and felt the old magic kick in. Not Luna’s kind—the other kind. The kind that separated marks from money. “Let me start with a question. What does CastR actually sell?” Someone on Zoom unmuted to answer, but Elias kept talking. “No, it’s not magic. What CastR sells is agency. The feeling—the unshakeable belief—that you, personally, can bend reality to your will. And that, my friends, is priceless.”