Chapter 7 · The Night Desk

"Say it again." Vale's thumb presses into the hinge of my jaw, tipping my head so the emergency light catches my eyes instead of his. "Tell me Rhys doesn't own that university seat. Tell me your brother's name isn't sitting in a file Rhys can burn with one signature."

I don't say it. My wrist is still caught in his other hand, and I can already feel where his grip is going to bruise — four small points, finger by finger, printed into skin that used to just be mine.

"You don't get to hold both," I say. "My arm and my brother."

"I'm not holding your brother." His mouth is an inch from my temple, breath hot against my hairline, and under it his scent rolls over mine like a wave deciding to stay — pine smoke, river cold, nothing like the antiseptic thing Rhys wears to smell like money. "Rhys is. I'm just the only one telling you the truth about it."

The elevator groans. Something under the floor plate finally catches, gears biting, and the box drops a half foot before it steadies. My stomach goes with it.