Chapter 12 · The Deadly Dinner

"Sit down, Sloane. Or do I have the guards teach you how a chair works?"

Augustus doesn't even look up from his wine. His frequency does the work for him. Hits me like a wall the second I step in. Heavy. Sour with ozone and old blood.

"I like standing," I say. "Easier to move when this goes sideways."

Now he looks. Cold eyes. Way too sure of himself. He taps the chair right next to him. "Sideways? We're having dinner, Sloane. Not a brawl. Sit. Now."

Kael's two steps behind me. I don't have to see him to feel him. Low hum. Hand hovering near his blade. Tense as hell.

And that — that's the only thing in this room I like.

I sit. Slow. Let the chair scream against the marble. Loud on purpose.

"You've been loud lately," Augustus says. Swirls his wine. "Traitors. Archives. Digging where you shouldn't. Almost like you think you're a player. Not a piece I forgot to toss."

"Maybe I'm just better at this than you thought," I say. I pick up a fork. Flip it. "Or maybe you're slipping."

He laughs. Not a laugh. A cut. "My grip?