Page 6 of Damian
“You tell River,” I said. “You tell Cyclone. You tell me. One channel. Don’t start playing detective with your own emotions. That’s how people get turned into bait.”
She let out a slow breath. “I don’t want to be bait again. I only want Ruby back.”
“You won’t be if you do as you’re told.” My tone softened just enough to be honest. “We’ll take it slow. And Morgan? If you break down at any point — when it gets heavy — you tell me. Don’t try to be bravely silent. I don’t work with people who keep their guts to themselves. It’s dangerous.”
She blinked, and for a heartbeat, the mask she’d worn since the prologue cracked. “You… you care.”
I gave a small, crooked smile. “I care enough not to let people die stupidly.”
She grinned then — small and fierce — like a candle finding air for its flame. “That works.”
Later, as Cyclone and River argued the merits of two routes and the rest of the safehouse hummed like a hive, Morgan shuffled papers with trembling fingers and began to catalogue the lists. She read aloud once or twice, voice small and sharp: “Ship A — left port June fourth. Company…” She stopped herself, pressed a fist to her mouth, then exhaled and swallowed the rest.
I watched her for a long moment. This was the beginning of something dangerous and true. She wouldn’t be anyone’s passenger in this fight. She’d learned how to think from the margins; we would teach her how to aim.
Outside, the moon hung thin and indifferent. Inside, we bent toward the work like people bent toward a common prayer. We had a thread — brittle, thin — that connected the thing Luthor had taken and the woman sitting across from me. We’d pull on it until it broke the network or dragged us into the dark with it.
Either way, I wasn’t letting go.
5
Morgan
The papers blurred if I stared at them too long. Dates, numbers, names — all scrawled in tidy columns Cyclone had pulled from somewhere that looked more like spycraft than anything I’d ever touched. I was supposed to be finding patterns, but all I could think was: Ruby would have hated this. She hated math, hated lists, hated anything that looked like homework.
My chest pinched. I pressed the heel of my hand against my sternum, as if I could push the ache back inside. If I let myself think about Ruby too much, I’d fold in on myself. And folding wasn’t allowed anymore. Damian’s voice was still in my ears:Don’t spiral. Don’t break.
So instead, I did what I always did when the world felt too sharp — I talked to myself.
“Man in a van,” I murmured, my pen tapping against the paper. “Too many write-offs. Shell company with a ghost director. Which means—” I stopped myself, cheeks heating. Cyclone was three feet away, head bent over his laptop, but I knew he’d heard. He didn’t even look up, just gave a low grunt like he was marking it down anyway.
I ducked my head, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
River, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, smirked. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. Just don’t start talking loud and getting Cyclone and Damian riled.”
I blinked, startled, then managed a weak laugh. “Don’t tempt me. Writers are dangerous when they’re bored.”
That earned me a real smile from him, quick and bright, before he went back to scanning out the window.
Still, my skin prickled with self-consciousness. I wasn’t used to peoplehearingme. At home, it was just Ruby, who would tease me with a grin and steal my recorder to play back my mumblings like bloopers. Here, every word felt like it echoed.
I bent lower over the papers, forcing myself to focus. Dates. Names. Numbers. “Three shipments,” I whispered, tracing the lines with my fingertip. “All rerouted through the same warehouse. Two different companies, but the address is identical. That’s not sloppy. That’s confidence. They think no one’s watching.”
“Not no one,” Damian’s voice rumbled from behind me.
I startled so hard my pen clattered against the table. He stood in the doorway, arms folded, gaze locked on me with that unnerving precision that made me feel seen down to the bone.
“You’re noticing,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s good. Keep noticing.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “I was just… thinking out loud.”
“You think loud, love,” he said dryly, but there was no bite in it. “We’ll find a way to use that.”
My fingers tightened around the pen. Part of me wanted to tell him I didn’twantto be useful this way, that I just wanted Ruby back and our quiet little life again. But another part — the writer part — lit up at his words. He was takingme seriously. Like maybe I wasn’t just dead weight they’d dragged out of that warehouse.
I straightened the papers and cleared my throat. “Three shipments. Same route. Same hub. If Ruby’s still alive, maybe she’s being moved through there. It’s what I’d write, anyway.”
For a heartbeat, silence stretched. Then Damian gave one short nod, the kind that felt like a seal of approval. “Then that’s where we start.”
