Then he opens the door and steps out.
I scrub my hands over my face, stare at the framed chaos on the walls—old photos, maps with pins, a knife Xavier sank into the wood the night we took back a route we never should’ve lost.
Two weeks. Two weeks of sitting at his bedside while this place strains under the weight of his absence.
If the Vipers are truly on the move, we don’t have time left to indulge in loyalty or sentiment. We need something sharp. We need something loud.
We need Valentina.
The idea settles before I can push it away.
A few minutes later, voices approach. Low. Familiar.
The door swings open.
Valentina steps in first.
She walks like she owns the floor and is still deciding if she wants to keep it. Black skirt, fitted top, Xavier’s chain tangled at her throat like a dare. Her hair is up, but wisps have escaped,framing her face, wild enough to remind everyone she didn’t grow up here, didn’t get built in these walls—and yet she fits better than half the men who did.
Asher follows, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
“Zay.” Her eyes find mine immediately, like they always do, like there’s a wire between us. “You look like shit.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” I say. “You look very coronated.”
The corner of her mouth tries to turn up, but the worry in her eyes shuts it down. She moves closer to the desk, fingers brushing the edge where she sat earlier today, if the faint scuff in the varnish is any clue.
“Asher said you heard something,” she says. “About the Vipers.”
“Eli heard it,” I correct. “I just extracted it.”
“Semantics,” she mutters. “Tell me.”
So I do. The bar. Eli’s stammering. The routes. The Vipers pushing into spaces they avoided before. The talk about us being “distracted.”
By the time I’m done, she’s gripping the desk, knuckles pale.
“How sure are we?” she asks.
“Sure enough that I don’t think we can ignore it,” I say. “It could be guys talking shit, but it fits.”
“Fits what?” she presses.
Asher steps back around the desk and leans against it, folding his arms. “Fits what we already suspected. That someone’s feeding them our state. They’re moving too fast not to have someassurance Xavier’s not about to ride back through their front door.”
Her gaze flicks between us. “So we have moles,” she says. “Active. And ambitious.”
“Yes,” Asher says.
“I thought you two were working on that.” There’s no accusation in her voice, just a tired edge. “You had a list. A plan.”
“We’re working on it,” I say. “Quietly. Pulling people in, asking questions. Checking alibis.”
“And?” she pushes.
“And nobody’s cracked yet,” Asher answers. “The ones we’ve tested are either loyal or good liars.”
She exhales slowly, jaw flexing. “Of course they’re good liars. They’re betraying Xavier, not stealing candy.”