Page 6 of Rogue’s Mark

My father is dead. Fischer slipped. Alice talks about everyone in present tense because that's what she does.

I believe all of that.

I do.

The door opens. All three guys, one after the other, fill the room immediately and completely, the atmosphere changing with their presence. Armen's eyes go to me first, then Mara, then the documents still on the table.

"Fischer is secure," Armen says to no one in particular.

I nod.

Rogue drops into the chair next to mine, close enough that his arm presses against me. Sting remains standing, leaning against the wall, jacket still on. He looks at me.

I hold his gaze but give him nothing. I’m just not feeling that generous.

But damn, do I have a bunch of thoughts that have crawled into my skull and taken up residence in a place I can't evict them from.

"So what’s next?" I ask.

Armen pulls out a chair. "Let’s talk about that."

4

ROGUE

The thing about living in a dead mall is that nothing is supposed to happen here.

That's the point. The Rot exists because the outside world forgot about it, and we exist because we're happy to let them keep forgetting. No drama, no visibility, no reason for anyone with a badge or a grievance to come knocking. We are, by design, just some boring real estate. A non-event. A place your eyes slide right off of.

Which is why, when something does happen, I notice.

Dex finds me in the upper corridor around midmorning. I'm doing nothing, just leaning against the wall outside the old sporting goods unit, eating an apple, watching the foot traffic below. Dex is a mid-level, been here long enough to know which problems to handle himself and which ones to bring to us. The fact that he's climbing stairs tells me something already.

"There's a face," he says.

I take another bite of the apple. "There are a lot of faces. We have a whole population of faces, Dex."

He ignores my sarcasm. "A new face, near the old jewelry shop. Been there since early morning."

"Doing what?"

"Standing."

I look at him. "Just standing."

Shifting his weight, he nods. "Just standing. Watching people. And, he asked one of the hub workers about Fischer."

Now he’s got my attention. I stop chewing.

"He asked for Fischer by name?"

"By name."

“How long has he been there?”

Dex shrugs. “Two hours. Maybe longer.”

I drop the apple core in the bin by the wall and push off. "Show me."