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The question catches me off guard. “Orien’s been shoving food into my mouth at every opportunity.”

Ash cuts my mate a disapproving glare. “As he should after what he did.”

Orien scowls. “William is a fucking loud-mouthed gossip.”

Ash lowers his tablet. “Did Angel give you the drugs?”

I, too, turn to Orien. At the time, I hadn’t stopped to wonder where and why Orien had obtained the Inductis, but it’s not an easy drug to come by.

Orien lifts one shoulder. “He might have given me some from his stash.”

Ash’s lips thin before he shakes his head and gestures for me to take the chair beside his. “You should sit before you fall down.”

Orien guides me to the offered seat, and I sink into the leather with relief, my legs grateful for the chance to rest.

Rowan ends his call and sets the phone down with a decisive click. “Thanks for coming,” he says, looking at me for the first time. “I realize you’re not at your best right now.”

I straighten in my chair. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.” He turns to Orien. “Is he stable?”

“My mate’s strong,” Orien replies, perching on the arm of my chair to stay close. “But let’s keep this brief.”

Rowan turns to the door as it opens behind us. Ghost slips in, a file folder in one hand and two steaming mugs in the other. He sets one in front of me, a hot chocolate based on the mound of whipped cream on top, then takes his place at Rowan’s side, keeping his thoughts locked behind his mismatched eyes.

“Okay,” Rowan says once we’re all settled. “Let’s get started.”

The meeting begins far calmer than I expected. Rowan doesn’t interrogate me or demand explanations immediately. Instead, he leans back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him, and asks, “How’s the Mark setting? Any fever or swelling beyond the normal response?”

I blink at him, thrown by the question. “Not...no. Only the usual tenderness.”

“And you’re staying hydrated?” He zeroes in on the mug of hot chocolate, untouched between my hands.

I lift it and take a small sip, the sweet warmth spreading through my chest. “Yes.”

“Good.” He motions to the folder Ghost holds. “You recognize this.”

My stomach twists. “Yeah, I took it from my family’s compound. Did you read it?”

“We did,” Ghost confirms. “We would have given you the chance to tell us yourself, but Orien thought it might be time-sensitive.”

“He was right.”

“It’s an interesting read,” Rowan says, deceptively mild. “Very thorough. Your family doesn’t leave much to chance.”

The hot chocolate turns to acid. “No, they don’t. I tried to warn you⁠—”

“You did.” Rowan cuts me off with a raised hand. “And we’re grateful. But there’s information you need before we go any further.”

He gestures to Ghost, who opens a drawer in the desk and pulls out another folder, this one thicker, the edges worn from handling. He places it on the desk between us and flips it open to reveal a stack of photographs, maps, and typed reports.

“Three months ago, we started to receive anonymous tips about Vartanian movements, weapons transfers, and expansion plans into Blue Note territory.” He slides one of the photographs toward me. “Sound familiar?”

I stare down at the grainy shot of what appears to be a delivery truck parked behind a warehouse. The logo on the side has been blurred, but the angle and lighting match the surveillance photos my uncle presented to the council last month.

Ghost pulls another paper out. “We received this a month ago.”

I take it and read the message, my attention catching on familiar buzzwords.