Page 34 of How to Steal a Galaxy

“Why didn’t you alert the authorities?” the coordinator shouts.

“I tried.” I look at Rian, raising my hands and making the signs forDo you trust me?A little muscle near his left eye tics. I turn my full attention to the coordinator. “But time was of the essence, and the show must go on, no?”

Winters looks at his cuff band, eyes bouncing off glowing letters as ping after ping swamps the receiver. “I need to—”

Rian waves him off without taking his eyes off me. He pulls out a chair, sitting down as the coordinator leaves us alone, the door clicking shut behind us.

I lean forward before Rian can speak. “I didn’t do this,” I say, jerking my head toward the data pad without breaking eye contact. “I came across a kid who got conned into delivering a hack.” Outside, we can hear Fetor’s speech echoing throughout the museum. He’s not physically lifted above the crowd; there are no glittering displays. But I catch the wordnanobots, and the resulting cheers from the audience make me reasonably sure things are going well.

A soft knock on the door. Rian stands to open it. The woman in the silver dress. I hear them muttering for a moment, catching things like “drone footage confirms” and “there did seem to be a breach through the staff hall.” She hands Rian a huge, padded bag. Rian shuts the door again when she leaves.

Inside the black bag is a plethora of devices. Rian sets them up on the conference table, ignoring me when I lean forward to look. He’s checking up on my story, checking all the security drones, linking in to the transponder to see what else it has. I let him work for a while.

I let him prove my story correct.

“Look,” I say once I’m certain he knows I wasn’t lying, at least not about this, “cards on the table. I didnotwake up this morning intending to bump into some kid recruited for the Jarra and have to fuck up all his plans to make way for my own.”

“A kid?” Rian’s face softens, then goes tense again. “But what were your plans?”

I shrug. “You won’t believe me. But...I’ve got a little bit of a track record going for me,” I say, quieter. “No one dies. Even if that messes up my own agenda.”

Oh, that’s eating him up inside. Because it’s true. Last time we crossed paths, the last words I said to him were claiming that no one died in the crash of the UGSRoundabout,and I have no doubt that he followed up on that, proving me right. And the evidence of the kid’s hack is right there in front of him.

“You could be working with—”

“No.” My harsh word cuts him off. “No,” I repeat, just as strongly. I let out a breath through my nose. “We all have our lines we don’t cross.”

Rian puts the data pad on the table, scooting his chair close to mine. Our knees bump. It reminds me of being in the shuttle with him, exploring the protoplanet where theRoundaboutcrashed, telling him truths and lies and waiting to see which ones he believed.

“What other lines do you have, Ada?” he asks. His voice is low, rough.

I shrug, and while my face is casual, my tone matches his. “Very few. Limits aren’t really my thing.”

Eyebrow arch. “I can see that.”

My hands move from my lap to his knees, my fingers pressing against his firm thighs. I stand, the chair scooting behind me, but I keep my face even with his, my hands on him, my body angled so that I fill his vision. “As far as dates go, this one has been pretty terrible, but there’s still time for you salvage it.”

It takes a few minutes for my words to process in his head. He snorts. “This isn’t a date, Ada.” He’s working so hard to keep his eyes on mine, not drifting south. What a gentleman.

“It could be,” I whisper. “And what an exciting story it would become.”

He scoots back in his chair, pushing my hands away. I straighten up, using this opportunity to look down at him. He picks up my data pad.

“I’m keeping this,” he says.

“Then you’re going to reimburse me,” I snap back.

“Consider the data recorder you stole fromHalifaxto be payment.”

“That was a gift,” I say.

“The information on it wasn’t.”

Fine. He’s not bending on that.

I slip my shoes back on—they’re painful, but the tile floor is cold. “The gala’s almost over,” I say. “Show a girl a good time.”

He’s going to let me off the hook for the stage shenanigans. I know it; he knows it. Everything he’s checked has proven my story. Rian knew that part of the stairs was the only blind spot, but he’s retroactively tracked the kid’s entry and exit, and he sees the evidence I’ve gathered. When some expert analyzes the code, maybe they’ll even be able to trace it back to some member of the Jarra who set the kid up, I don’t know. But it’s pretty obvious now that I stopped a much bigger crisis from happening, and whether he likes it or not, Rian’s going to forgive me for the little stunt I pulled.

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