Chapter 18 · Prove It

"Don't move." Dimitri's hand closed over the back of my neck and shoved me into the container wall before I even saw the inspector coming.

Cold steel. My cheek against rust. His body a wall behind mine, close enough that I felt the heat coming off him through two layers of coat.

"Volkov." A voice, bored, official. Boots on wet concrete. "Papers say tactician. Papers don't say bonded."

"Papers are old," Dimitri said, flat, like this bored him too. Like his hand wasn't shaking a little where it gripped my collar.

The inspector — Baric, badge crooked on a coat that smelled like fish oil — stepped close enough that I could see the little brass wand in his fist. Scent reader. Illegal in three districts, standard at every port that mattered.

"Then prove it's new," Baric said. "Bite's fresh, it reads. Bite's fake, it reads that too. I don't let unbonded cargo through my dock, Volkov. Not after last month."

My pulse kicked. Last month meant somebody got shot for lying about exactly this.

"Levi." Dimitri's mouth was right at my ear. Nobody else could hear it. "Say no and we walk out of here in a body bag.