Page 86 of Redline Communion

Dominic: Cassian reviewing. Submit correction by morning.

Cassian.

There it is, the first real consequence.

I get out of bed and pull on the jeans I left over the chair without turning on a light. The apartment is cold enough that the tile bites at my feet on the way to the kitchen. My laptop sits on the counter, and when I open the reporting portal, it remembers my login.

Of course it does.

The villa report appears exactly as I submitted it: four lines, none obviously false and none obviously incomplete unless the person reading already knows what I removed.

That’s the problem with omissions. Once somebody recognizes the shape of the missing thing, the space around it gets louder than whatever you wrote instead.

I click AMEND.

A blank field opens beneath the original submission.

Subject consumed cocaine at private gathering.

I delete it.

Subject appeared altered.

Delete.

University associate expressed concern.

Delete.

I flatten my hands against the counter.

I could tell part of the truth, enough to make the report agree with whatever they already know. Lorelei used cocaine. Kiwi called me. I went to the villa and found her high. I took her somewhere quieter.

Anything after that becomes mine to keep.

Except that is exactly the logic that got me here.

Mine to keep. Mine to decide. Mine to redact.

I look toward the living room. The sweater Lorelei stole from me is draped over the back of the couch, apparently visiting its former residence under whatever custody arrangement she invented.

A laugh escapes me.

It sounds terrible.

My phone buzzes, and for one stupid second I think it’s her.

Cassian: Call me.

No.

Absolutely not.

I turn the phone facedown.

It buzzes again.

Cassian: Rafe.