Page 85 of Reckless: Chaos

“Shoulder bothering her?” I reach for my chess set—the one with pieces carved from ebony and maple, each one weighted perfectly for the endgame I sense approaching.

“Among other things.” His attempt at casual falls flat between us. We’ve known each other too long for such obvious deflection.

I tuck the board under my arm, balance it against the weight of fresh coffee and calculated risks. “Time for a strategy session then.”

“The chess kind or the other kind?”

“With her?” I allow myself a small smile, the kind that says I’ve already seen the next ten moves. “You know better than anyone—it’s all the same game.”

The basement stairs creak under my feet—a tactical advantage we’ve never fixed. Can’t sneak up or down them without broadcasting your presence. Not that she needs the warning system anymore. She’s mapped every weak spot in our defenses, just like I knew she would.

Just like I would.

Her door stands slightly ajar, morning light painting shadows through the gap. I pause, listening to the subtle shifts of movement inside. The way her breath catches slightly—shoulder probably needs ice, not heat.

“Bringing peace offerings?” Her voice carries equal parts amusement and wariness as I push the door open.

“Coffee and chess.” I set both on the small table by her bed, taking in the details others might miss. The way she’s favoringher left side. The careful arrangement of pillows supporting her shoulder. The calculations running behind her eyes.

“Quite the combination.” She eyes the chess set—my private set, the one even Ryker rarely touches. “Special occasion?”

“Consider it preventative medicine.” I pour coffee with precise movements, adding exactly one sugar—the way she takes it when she’s carrying too much weight on her shoulders. “Your shoulder needs checking, and you need distraction while I work.”

“And the chess set?”

“Sometimes the best way to plan your next move is to practice with smaller stakes.” I begin setting up the pieces, each one finding its predetermined place. “Though I suspect you’re already several games ahead.”

Her laugh holds edges sharp enough to cut. “That obvious?”

“To someone who counts cards for fun?” I hand her the coffee, noting how her fingers tremble slightly. “Let’s just say I recognize a fellow strategist when I see one.”

“Black or white?” I ask, though I already know her answer. She always chooses black when she’s planning something destructive. Letting the opponent make the first move while she calculates weaknesses.

“Black.” She settles against her pillows, wincing slightly. “Though I’m starting to think neither of us is playing the color we pretend to be.”

Interesting choice of words. I make my opening move—queen’s pawn, classic and predictable. “Morality isn’t always as clear as black and white pieces on a board.”

“Like watching your pack clean up after an interrogation?” But she mirrors my move, setting up a symmetric defense. Perfect positioning for either attack or retreat.

“Like watching you calculate exactly how to use your friends’ particular talents.” I keep my tone mild as I advance my knight.The smell of blood and antiseptic still clings to Jinx’s clothes in the laundry. “You weren’t exactly surprised by their methods.”

Her hand stills over her bishop. “That obvious?”

“To someone who’s built a life around reading people?” I allow myself a small smile. “You forget—I was the first one who saw through your hacktivism to the hero complex beneath.”

“Not a hero.” She moves her bishop, aggressive positioning that leaves her queen vulnerable. “Just someone with a job to do.”

“The job of protecting everyone except yourself?” I capture her exposed pawn, noting how she doesn’t even flinch at the loss. “Interesting strategy.”

“Tell me something, Finn. With your analytical mind and all those psychology degrees—what’s the real mortality rate of the virus?”

The question hits harder than any chess move. Trust her to go straight for what keeps me up at night.

“Higher than the official numbers.” I keep my voice steady, clinical, though my fingers tighten on my bishop. “The quantum tracking program complicates accurate data collection. We need a secure way to investigate without leading him to more victims.”

“How many, Finn?” Her next move is aggressive, protective—like she’s trying to shield her pieces from an invisible threat.

“You know I won’t lie to you.”

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