Page 34 of Problematic

“Let them scream,” I said. “Set up the meeting for tonight. I’ll go.”

He blinked. “Personally.”

“Personally,” I said. “They wanted to know if I still get my hands dirty. They have their answer. Now they can look me in the eye and decide how much they value their necks.”

There was a beat of silence. The only sound in the room was the soft buzz of the city outside and the low, steady buzz of the bond under my skin.

“Understood,” Vale said.

The rest of the day disappeared beneath border reports, troop movements, and clan representatives pretending open war had caught them by surprise. By nightfall, I had threatened two rulers, reassigned three Hollowside routes, and sat through a meeting where every demon at the table lied about how long they had known Scarn planned to cross Angelfall.

None of it quieted the bond.

Vale sent Olivia’s schedule to my phone during the meeting. Coffee shop until two. Bellflower & Bone from four until ten. Her delivery route would keep her across the city for another hour after closing. She wouldn't be home before eleven.

A failing lock.

A ward strong enough to warn me if anyone approached her door yet not what waited beyond it.

I told myself I needed to inspect the building.

The lie survived until I reached Harlow Street. I got there before she did and waited across the alley until the delivery van pulled in, her apartment light came on, then finally went dark.

The lock popped easily.

Simple. Pathetic. I barely had to think about it. One twist of metal shaped like a key, and the bolt gave with a soft, embarrassed click.

The ward hummed when I stepped inside. My ward. It brushed my skin, sharp as teeth, then leaned away, recognizing me. Convenient that it would keep all the monsters out except the one who put it there.

Me.

I could sneak around in the dark all night, and she would never know.

Mask on. Hood up. Gloves. No exposed skin, just in case. The bond still shifted when I crossed her threshold, a low drag under my ribs. The apartment smelled like cheap black tea and the ghost of whatever bath soap she used.

The apartment was small. Just one main room pretending to be three. Books everywhere. Floor, table, stacked in leaning piles. I took it in quickly.

A paper grocery bag waited beside the door with “Mrs. Delora” written across the folded top. Canned soup, tea, bread, and half a box of expensive protein bars.

Her kitchen cabinets held less food than the bag.

The urge to refill every cabinet hit hard enough to irritate me. She needed someone to take care of her, and I was willing and ready.

I moved to the counter first.

The first rose sat in the glass I left it in yesterday. She’d found water for it. Of course she did. It stood a little straighter now, petals open wider, drinking in the shitty overhead light.

I took the second rose from inside my jacket and set it in the same glass.

Two stems. Two blooms. A stupid little pattern, but when she woke up in the morning, she’d know I’d been here. She wouldn’t know who I was, but she’d notice the details.

Details mattered.

I turned.

She was passed out on the sofa again. Curled into herself, blanket half kicked off, hair a mess across the cushion. She had on the most ridiculous hoodie I’d ever seen, an oversized sherpa thing with a panda face on the hood and little ears that flopped near her temples.

Fucking adorable.