Page 94 of Prey It By Ear

Sterling moves on before the kid can sit down, pointing at the next student, a fox-shifter girl with an undercut dyed blue on the left side. “Lynton.”

She’s more prepared, I’ll give her that. “My family trades in intelligence brokering. Our advantage is plausible deniability. No one knows which side we’re actually on, which lets us survive regime changes or purges.” She pauses for effect. “Our flaw is the same—we have no allies. If someone uncovers a double-deal, we’re at risk for permanent cancellation.”

Sterling’s mouth almost curves into a smile, but it’s more a muscle twitch than anything resembling joy. “How would you correct this, Lynton?”

“We sell only to the highest bidder, and we always have a secondary blackmail dossier to keep buyers honest.” She pauses and tilts her head. “That’s the current solution, but I believe it is not a problem that can be solved given the nature of our business. It is a risk inherent in the sector, and all we can do is mitigate it, not fix it.”

Sterling nods, just once, but I can tell this time he’s somewhat pleased. “Good.”

I’m not sure if I should laugh or send a sympathy fruit basket for getting his permanent attention, but I keep my eyes on the notebook, adding a margin note.

“Lynton: hedges bets; probably has something on everyone, including me.”

A wolf-shifter stands when Sterling points again. This one’s surname is Sandoval, and he’s the classic ‘my dad’s an important ___, so I don’t have to try’ type. He’s big, not just in build, but in the way he claims the air around his seat. He starts, “My family⁠—”

Sterling interrupts, “We know your family and what they do. Skip to the flaw.”

I don’t, and that’s annoying as hell for my notes, but whatever.

The wolf’s hackles actually rise, and he takes a second to process the insult. “Our flaw is over-reliance on the Council families for contracts. If there ever was a real shake-up, the middle-tier families would be in as much danger as the leaders because they support infrastructure so heavily. Same boat as Gaines, I’d expect.”

“And?” Sterling prompts, his eyes locked on the wolf.

“We’re working to get ahead of any moves to destabilize the Council as it stands.”

Sterling says nothing. He just looks at Sandoval until the wolf sits, sweating as if he’s been running laps. I don’t think that was the fix he wanted to hear, and he seems irritated as hell about it. But he will not tell the kid—somehow, I just know it’ll get back to the right ears, whoever that is.

The entire class is vibrating with nervous energy. I see it in the way the body language tilts away from the front, with students crossing their arms or bracing for a hit. The professor doesn’t call names in order; he picks at random, like a predator deciding which mouse is dumb enough to run. The next five minutes are a blur of strengths and weaknesses, mostly the same recycled answers—networking, legacy placement, so-and-so’s pride, someone’s inability to adapt. The only ones who impress Sterling are the ones who name a flaw so egregious or raw that you know they were up all night sweating about it.

Is that his game? Is he just a spy someone placed here to find out dirt on the rich preds?

I’m scribbling all of it down—not just the facts, but the tells. Who sweats, who blinks, and who keeps their hands folded in their lap to hide the shaking is important. If the kids are this unreliable, there are probably worse things hiding in their C-suites. That could be very useful if we need to distract the Society jackasses so we can deal with the Fae. Sterling, meanwhile, is reading the room with the precision of a machine—he never looks surprised. He already knows every answer before it comes, and he’s only watching to see who will lie or fold.

It occurs to me, in low-grade panic, that I’m going to have to stand up and do the same as these people. Bruno’s dead, which I can use, but giving out anything on Lucille is asking for problems I don’t need. It will get back to her, and I will be punished somehow, even if I didn’t have a choice.

For now, I build my notes, making special marks on who could be pressured in a pinch, who is likely to betray their mother, and who will probably end up in a shallow grave before they run anything. I’m almost disappointed when Sterling closes his notebook with a soft, decisive snap and says, “This is the standard. Next week, you’ll be called on at random, and you will present an analysis of your own strengths and weaknesses with potential solutions.”

The words echo in the mouth-shaped hall, and nobody moves for a full five seconds. Even the Heathers look shaken, which would be delightful if I wasn’t in the same boat. When the spell finally breaks, the rest of the class rises in a rustle of bags and notebooks and egos, each student hyper-aware that they could be next. I stay seated, running my pen down the margin of my list.

Sandoval, Lynton, Barrington, Erickson, Gaines—called on first for family info

I close my notebook, stand, and stretch my arms overhead until I feel the vertebrae crack. My phone vibrates—one text from Fitz, no words, just a GIF of a bunny in a battle helmet. I snort-laugh, then sling my bag over my shoulder and start out, ready for whatever the next battle brings. I’m not sure if I passed the first test of this class, but I know I survived it.

As I pack up, I feel the chill across my scalp before Sterling even speaks. “Drew. Tell me yours now.”

He says it like an indictment, and I lock eyes with him. The light from the windows has finally shifted, so his silhouette is all crisp edges and zero warmth. I don’t move to the front. Instead, I grip the edge of my desk—just enough to feel the bite in my palm and use it to steady my nerves. I should tell him to fuck off because the class is over, but I sense that won’t do any good.

“My family’s historic strength is adaptability,” I say, in my best project-pitch voice. “We’ve never put all our chips on one board. Whenever there’s a shift—purge, regime change, power vacuum—we cut our losses, form new alliances, and survive by blending in. No one has ever finished off the Drews—or the family my mother comes from—because we never bet on a single winner. We hedge until it hurts.”

Sterling arches a brow and crosses his arms over his chest as he waits.

“The flaw in that is obvious—paranoia. No one trusts us because when you try to outmaneuver everyone, you’re eventually left with no one to cover your back. My mother was betrayed by someone very close as a child, and she never saw it coming. That’s how it always ends for people like that: a knife to the heart from a loved one, every time.” I stare right at Sterling, daring him to blink first.

He doesn’t. No, he lets the silence stretch into a wire, thin and sharp enough to draw blood. “How does that serve you, Miss Drew? Are there not benefits to minding one’s own store and not allowing others to screw you over, even supposed family?”

There’s no point in lying, especially since I’m talking about Lucille, not me. “It makes my family hard to predict and harder to control. But it leaves them with no allies, like Lynton, which means someone can blow you up on an airplane when you’ve outlived your usefulness. There’s no one who gives a shit, so it doesn’t get caught before it happens.”

The professor watches me a beat longer and then gives the barest flicker of a smirk. It’s like he’s checked a box on his private ledger, and I have no idea what the hell it means. “You may go.”