Chapter 11 · Dinner With the Monster

"Don't be late."

The message hit my phone at four in the morning. Half a second later, the same one lit up Vera's screen.

Dinner tonight. 7 PM. Don't be late. —Dad

I was still wearing my blood-crusted jacket. Vera had bug guts packed under her nails. We sat on opposite ends of a motel bed that charged by the hour and didn't ask questions.

"He knows," Vera said.

"Maybe."

"Iris. He knows."

I looked at the tracker chip on the nightstand. Its red light blinked beside the Chen Industries logo. We'd pulled it out of a three-stage bug's skull four hours ago.

"Then we don't go."

Vera gave a short, bitter laugh. "You think that's an option? If we don't show, he'll know we found something."

"He already knows we found something. The question is whether he knows we know."

She scrubbed both hands over her face. "And what happens when he figures that out?"

Alpha answered before I could. "Probability of physical threat at the family residence: twelve percent. Probability of surveillance and intelligence gathering: ninety-four percent."

"A test," I muttered. "Great."

Vera stood and paced three steps to the wall, then three steps back.