Page 98 of Problematic

“It’s okay, Vale, I finished. I—I mean I’m finished with my business.” I should just throw myself in the flames now.

“SURE . . .” He glanced up at me through the lids of his eyes. “Are we still feeling distracted or . . . ?”

I squared up. “No, tell me what happened. I need details. Someone is dying for this.”

He nodded. “I assumed as much.”

“Good.” I stepped closer to the burning annex and let the heat lick over my face. My skin still smelled like her. My mouth still tasted like her. My hands still held the memory of her thighs parting around me, and now some southern piece of shit had decided to interrupt my evening with amateur explosives.

Rude.

Vale stood beside me with his tablet clutched in both hands, soot streaking one pale cheek, the flames behind him turning his hair copper at the edges. “No civilian casualties. Two Guards injured. Healers have them stable.”

“Names.”

“Rendell and Mott.”

“Their families get moved before sunrise. Full protection. Full medical. Triple hazard pay.”

Vale typed without arguing. Smart man. “Done.”

A beam inside the annex groaned and collapsed. Sparks burst through the broken windows, showering the pavement. My men shifted behind the perimeter, tense, waiting for me to start breaking things. They knew me too well.

“What was housed here?” I asked.

“Secondary transit office. Dead records. A few holding shells tied to seized Hollowside assets. Nothing primary.” His mouth tightened. “This is southern work. Ash-salt residue, black pine resin, cinderbloom in the fuse magic. Southern signature, unless someone went through great trouble to frame them.”

“Scarn?” The name settled behind my teeth.

“Likely.”

“Then I’m going south.”

Vale went still. “Tonight?”

“Now.”

“We need confirmation.”

I turned toward him. The fire snapped between us, hot enough to blister any weaker thing. “They put a bomb under my tower while I was busy.”

Vale blinked once. “Busy.”

“Enjoying a private matter.”

“Of course.”

“With my mate.”

His expression went professionally empty, which meant he had opinions loud enough to become a workplace hazard.

I stepped closer. “Say it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Wise.”

“Sir, with respect, if you ride into the southern districts tonight, you give them exactly what they want. A reaction. A spectacle. Proof they got under your skin.”