Page 16 of Rogue’s Mark

VI

The meeting should feel over once Fischer leaves. It doesn't.

The room still feels contaminated somehow, like he left something rotten behind in the air. Maybe that's dramatic. I don't care. The man sat across from me for months pretending to be Tommy the harmless supply guy while helping destroy my city from the inside out. I feel entitled to a little drama.

Nobody moves immediately.

Armen stays at the head of the table, calm and unreadable. Rogue leans back in his chair with his boot hooked on the lower rung, arms folded. Sting closes the folder in front of him, tapping all the papers into a perfect, tidy pile.

Mara hovers near the wall beside Kade.

Kade.

I take a proper look at him for the first time. Tall, dark-haired, broad through the shoulders, wearing an old leather jacket that looks expensive enough to have belonged to another life before ending up in the Rot. He doesn't speak unless spoken to, but somehow changes the energy of the room anyway, probably because it's been our little group for so long that a new person feels like an extra arm. An unnecessary arm.

But what do I know.

More importantly, Mara keeps glancing at him when she thinks nobody's watching.

I notice. Rogue notices too, because his mouth twitches when he catches me catching her.

"What if he tries to leave?" I ask. "Fischer."

Armen's eyes move to me. "He won't. He's not stupid."

"The man in the corridor wasn't freelance," Kade says. “He wasn’t here on his own.” His voice is lower than I expected, and pretty authoritative for someone brand new to the room. "Even if we neutralize this one, there'll be others."

Rogue nods. "Agreed. Fischer knows that better than any of us."

I look around the table and realize nobody here seems surprised that the people above Fischer would send someone. Like they always knew this was coming. Maybe I did too. The realization sends cold fingers down my spine.

Armen stands, which signals the meeting is actually, finally over.

"Get some rest," he says to the room.

One by one, they filter out. Rogue goes with that unhurried ease of his, catching my eye on the way past without breaking stride. Sting leaves quietly, the way Sting does everything. Mara squeezes my shoulder as she passes, Kade one step behind her, and then the door clicks shut and the room is just me and Armen.

I'm gathering papers when his hand closes over my untouched coffee cup.

"You never drank this."

I look up. The room does feel smaller with just the two of us in it.

"Have you been sleeping?" he asks.

I laugh. Not because it's funny but because of course this is the first thing Armen asks. So practical. But it's also nice to be looked after, which is something I didn't expect to find in this place and still haven't really gotten used to.

"I'm getting by," I say.

"That wasn't the question."

He sets the coffee down beside me and leans back against the edge of the table, arms folded across his chest. God, he's beautiful. Not in any polished, obvious way. Armen looks dangerous even standing still. Dark eyes. Strong hands. Those tattoos. A permanent sense of control sitting just beneath the surface.

Most people in the Rot are careful around Armen. I understand why.

"I slept a little," I say finally.

"You look exhausted."