Page 13 of Enslak

She dismounted and I followed, my legs still adjusting to the strange gravity.

"We'll review the plan here." Binwee pulled out a small device that projected a holographic map into the air between us. "The kitchen entrance is here." She pointed to a spot on the projection. "I've been working there for almost two months. Staff turnover is high. The Ulkommenians who run the facility don't bother tracking individual workers as long as the food keeps coming. You'll pose as new kitchen help. Keep your head down, do the work, don't draw attention."

I studied the map, my detective's mind automatically cataloging details. "What's the security like?"

"Heavy around the pit arena and the holding cells. Lighter in the service areas. They don't expect threats from kitchen staff." Binwee's expression was grim. "They should. But their arrogance works in our favor."

"When do we observe the Negita?"

"Tomorrow, during the evening shift. He oversees the feeding schedule for the pit fighters." Binwee collapsed the holographic map and tucked the device away. "You'll have approximately thirty minutes to watch him interact with the staff and prisoners."

Thirty minutes.

I'd worked undercover operations where I'd had weeks to study a target's mannerisms, their speech patterns, the way they moved and gestured. Thirty minutes felt impossibly short, barely enough time to memorize a face, let alone inhabit one.

But it would have to be enough.

"I know it's not a lot." Binwee's eyes met mine. "That's why I've been documenting his patterns for the past week." She pulled out another device, this one displaying video footage. "Watch."

The hologram flickered to life, showing a slender figure about my height: the Negita.

My stomach dropped the moment I saw his face.

He looked like a rat.

He had the elongated snout typical of his species, small dark eyes set close together, front teeth that protruded slightly even when his mouth was closed. His movements were quick and twitchy.

I watched him work through the footage, cataloging details the way I'd been trained. His gait. The way he gestured when giving orders. How he positioned himself relative to the guards. His tail, thin and hairless, curled slightly when he was pleased and straightened when he was agitated.

Useful tells. The kind of thing that would help me mimic his mannerisms.

My jaw clenched anyway.

Growing up in New York, rats had been everywhere. In the walls of our apartment building, scratching behind the drywall at night. In the alley behind the bodega where I bought my morning coffee. I'd watched them scatter across subway platforms, bold as anything, not even bothered by the crowds. Once, when I was twelve, I woke up to find one sitting on my dresser, its beady eyes reflecting the streetlight from outside.

My mom laughed when I screamed. "They're more afraid of you than you are of them."

She was wrong.

Those fuckers weren't afraid of anything.

But that was then. This was now. And I didn't survive in this place by letting old fears control me.

I forced myself to keep watching the footage, to push past the visceral disgust crawling up my spine. The Negita's whiskers twitched when he was thinking. When he was angry, his fur bristled along his spine.

"You okay?" Binwee asked, catching my expression.

"Fine," I lied. "Just taking it all in."

I had to stay professional. This wasn't about my childhood trauma or the countless times I'd chased rats out of crime scenes with a broom. This was about Enslak. About the mission.

But Christ, did it have to be a rat?

I watched the footage three more times, forcing myself to absorb every detail. The way he clasped his hands behind his back when he walked. The slight hitch in his gait, an old injury maybe. How he touched his collar absently when lost in thought.

"Does he have any verbal tics?" I asked.

"He clicks his tongue when he's annoyed. And he calls everyone 'worker,' never by name." Binwee paused the footage. "He's been doing this job for years. He's bored, just going through the motions. That works in our favor. Bored people don't pay close attention."