“You can rest. Over there.”
He pointed at a long leather sectional with a full view of the window. Hwa had never seen so much of the material in one place. Síofra snapped his fingers twice, and the fireplace lit up. Warily, Hwa unbuttoned the jacket of her suit and laid it across the back of the sectional. She sat down and watched out the window. Clouds hung pink over the towers, lit by the dying sun. Its light cast the other towers in dark relief. She couldn’t quite see Tower Two from here; from this vantage point it looked like it was hiding behind Tower Four like an older, simpler sibling hiding behind a much smarter one.
She knew the rationale behind sticking the schools in the farm tower—all those bees, all those plants, all that science, ready and waiting—but the farm levels had far better security than the schools did. Patented seeds. Scary pesticides. Enough fertilizer to take out half the tower. For that reason alone, sniffers were posted at each major entry point: transit, causeway, the elevator court. They’d added more, after the Old Rig blew. How had anyone smuggled in live ammunition?
“Red or white?”
“Sorry?”
“The wine. Red or white?”
“Oh. Sorry. I don’t drink wine. Too much sugar.” She gestured at the stain he couldn’t see, then dropped her hand quickly. “Abrupt changes in blood sugar are bad for … me.”
“That’s a shame. Is there anything else I can offer you?”
“Vodka, if you have it.” It was the safest. But it sounded demanding, to be so specific. “Or gin. Or bourbon. Or—” She heard the sound of ice on steel. She turned, and he was shaking a martini. “Or martinis. Sure.”
As he poured, he asked: “Do you eat lamb?”
Hwa shrugged. “Don’t know. Never had it.”
He paused. “Never? Not even once?”
Hwa gestured at the other towers. “I don’t think you reckon how spendy meat is in this town.”
“Do you enjoy meat?”
“Well, yeah, it’s good for me, and it tastes good, and—”
He opened the door to the freezer and cut off the conversation. Out came a packet that he tossed in the sink. “We’ll eat the other things first, and this for dessert. Is tartare all right with you?”
“What?”
“Raw. Would you like to try it raw?”
The moment stretched on for longer than it should have. “Sure,” Hwa said, finally. “If that’s how you like it. I mean, you know more about it than me, right?”
He smirked. “Indeed.” He put the drinks and the shaker on a tray and carried them out to her. When she picked up hers, he held his out. “To your return.”
It was a perfect martini. Literally. She’d had one once before, at the Aviation bar in Tower Four. Half sweet vermouth, half dry. Just the barest hint of sugar, the tiniest possible taste of what she wasn’t supposed to have. She leaned into the moment the way she leaned into pain. Breathed through it. Inhaled deeply: leather and garlic and mint, the olive brine beading on her glass.
“I need you to tell me something,” she said, opening her eyes.
Síofra was watching her closely. “Yes?”
“Can you just level with me, and tell me you had somebody following me, the day of the shooting? Somebody wearing next-gen prototype camouflage, or something? Because if that’s the truth, then now’s the time.”
Síofra put his drink down and stared at her. “You saw it, too.”
Relief flooded her. She drained her martini. “I thought I was having a seizure.”
Síofra gestured at the windows, and suddenly surveillance footage was on the screen. There was the skullcap, staring at his guns. Checking and rechecking the clips. Sighting down the scopes. He bent down to tighten the laces of his boot, and there it was: a blip of pixellated white, a glitch. A glitch that looked vaguely human in shape. An invisible man, with his hands on the ammo.
Hwa pointed. “I saw this guy. In the sprinklers. The shape of him. Did you include this in the final report?”
“I did. But the live rounds left behind a trail. They were in a smart box. It looks like simple human error. And Silas wasn’t interested in an alternative explanation.”
A shiver ran through her. She pointed at the martini shaker. “You got any more there, b’y?”
He poured her another. “When you start back, I’ll thank you to stop calling me boy at the end of sentences.”
“It’s just an expression. It’s how we talk, out here. Besides, you’re only ten. I can call you whatever I want.”
He laughed. Hwa reminded herself stop staring at him, and pulled her focus to the footage on the screen. She was here for more than just this job. She spoke the part she’d rehearsed. “Once I get my Prefect access back, I’ll start looking for who’s selling camouflage in town. But I want expanded access. The premium plan, like you have.”
“You mean to hunt down this phantom?”
Hwa drank. “Fucker got me shot. If he didn’t want me hunting him, he should’ve finished the job.”
PART TWO
OCTOBER
9