Page 16 of Infernal Affairs

The corridors are narrow and mean. My footsteps echo even though I tread softly, trying not to disrupt the delicate equilibrium of this little government ecosystem. Zadok’s office is at the end of the southern hall, behind a frosted glass door stenciled with MAYOR ZADOK INFERNALIS in peeling gold leaf.

I tap once and enter without waiting for a response. That’s protocol between us: knock to be polite, interrupt to maintain dominance. Old habits, older than this town, older than this country, always die hard.

Zadok stands with his back to me, hunched over a sprawling corkboard covered in color-coded string and overlapping maps. If he had a lair, this would be it. He turns, and for a moment, I’m reminded that he and I are made of the same raw material—bone, blood, ambition tempered into something very nearly human.

“Enoch.” His smile is knives and confetti. “Didn’t expect you until after council.”

“Let’s call it initiative,” I say, depositing the file onto the already burdened desk. “You wanted the Habitat Restoration proposal in triplicate. I brought pie charts. And the responsible parties.”

He flips through the paperwork with exaggerated care, but he’s not reading. Instead, he’s watching me with that old, appraising look.

“So,” he begins, “Daisy brought you home-baked goods again.”

I freeze. The room is suddenly too small.

“Bribery is an ancient and respected tradition,” I say.

“She’s making a run at you.” Zadok says it with the patient gravity of a father explaining the facts of life to a particularly dense son.

I open my mouth, then close it again. “We’re friends,” I manage. “She’s generous with everyone.”

He levels me with his stare. “You know what sour cherry tarts mean?”

“You get a cavity?”

He makes a rude noise. “It’s a signal, Enoch. She’s signaling. No woman spends that much time on confections like that unless she wants more than gratitude. I know you’re emotionally constipated, but the entire town is talking about you two.”

“They talk about everyone,” I say, though I hate how whiny it sounds.

“They talk about me, and I’m the mayor. But this is different. Daisy’s never baked for anyone else. Not like that. Not since she moved here.” He stops, then shrugs. “Just saying. She’s not subtle.”

I sit, suddenly tired. My knees pop as I lower myself into the guest chair because even monsters are prey to the indignities of age. “I don’t see her that way,” I lie.

Zadok snorts and returns to fiddling with his corkboard. “Then I feel sorry for you. She’s quality. You’re not, but you could fake it for her.”

It’s meant as a joke, but there’s a heat behind it. A dare.

He drops the file onto the desk, all business. “You’re approved for the grant, by the way. But the city’s on austerity measures, so if you want volunteers, you’ll need to recruit them yourself.”

“Copy that,” I say, and stand a little too quickly.

He gives me the look again, this time sharper. “You’re going to ask her out, aren’t you?”

The urge to flee fights with the urge to fight. I lose both battles and resort to deflection.

“Do you think we could rope the Chess Club into grading trailheads this year? They’re surprisingly physical.”

“Enoch.” Zadok sits on the edge of his desk, arms crossed. “I love you like the brother I’m forced to claim, but you’re being a coward.”

I stare at a browning potted plant in the corner. “She’s too young.”

“Not for you,” he says. “For you, everyone’s too young.”

“There are reasons⁠—”

“Yeah, all terrible, and I’ve heard them for hundreds of years. Why not try being selfish, once?”

I shake my head.