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“Driving.”

“So I gathered,” Mathias says, his voice a hum over the car’s speakers.

I take the exit ramp into Steven’s neighborhood. “Then why ask?”

“To determine whether you’re driving toward something I need to care about.”

A dry chuckle escapes me. “Just a personal errand.”

I hear the soft click of his tongue. “I need you here.”

“What for?”

“Something Quillan managed to complicate.”

“That narrows it down to everything.”

A breath on the other end that might be amusement. “Indeed.”

“I’ll be around later.”

“How much later?”

“Few hours.”

Silence hangs between us, thick and knowing. My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. Streetlights smear gold across the windshield.

“Adrien.”

“What?”

“Is this personal errand going to become my problem?”

I think about Steven. “No.”

That answer, at least, is honest.

“If anything changes?”

“I’ll handle it.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“No. It wasn’t.”

Mathias goes quiet. I can picture him in his office, fingers steepled, calculating the risk I represent. “Call when you’re free.”

“Will do.”

The line dies. I barely get three more miles before the phone buzzes again against the cupholder’s plastic.

This time it’s a text.

Quillan: where tf are you

I snort.

Me: Busy.