My mother called on a Thursday morning, which was already suspicious, because my mother did not do mornings and she did not do calling and she especially did not do either of those things in combination unless something had shifted in the arithmetic of what she needed from me.
I stared at her name on my screen for four full rings. Then I answered.
"Aria." Her voice was warm. That was the first alarm. Naomi Vale used warmth the way other people used tools, selectively and with purpose, and hearing it at eight in the morning before she had even said anything else told me everything I needed to know about what was coming. "I've been thinking about you. I saw the news."
Of course she had. The engagement announcement had run in three major outlets the morning after Victor's dinner, a coordin
