Chapter 18 · Twelve Hours Gone

"Say his name, Knox."

His hand doesn't move off the keypad. Half an inch of air between his fingers and the numbers, like touching it would make the name true.

"Rhea—"

"You made a face. I saw it. You know exactly who's standing on the other side of that door, and you'd rather freeze to death in here than tell me."

The cold's gotten into my teeth. Forty-six hours on the seal clock, and the vault's breathing wrong now, thin and metallic, like we're running out of something the room isn't telling us about.

He drops his hand. Doesn't press anything. Just lets it fall to his side like it weighs more than it should.

"It doesn't matter who it is," he says. "What matters is if I open that door, three things happen, and none of them are good for you."

"Try me."

"They walk in, they see the tray, they see the stem, and it's not evidence anymore. It's leverage. And leverage doesn't go to a lab, Rhea. It goes into somebody's pocket."

I step into him. Not far—the wash corridor doesn't give far—