"She has the contract," Alina said, and Avery put down his glass very, very gently.
They were on the sun deck in the morning light. The cellist was practicing somewhere below, a slow, mournful piece that drifted up through the open hatches. The sea was so blue it looked painted. A steward had just brought Avery a tall glass of iced coffee, and he'd been about to drink it.
He set it on the table instead, precisely, without a sound.
"Say that again."
"Simone. On the tender dock, at midnight." Alina sat down across from him in the shade of the canopy. She looked like she hadn't slept. "She's read it. All of it. The clauses. The footnotes. She quoted Clause Nine at me."
Avery didn't move.
Inside him, Nimor went very still. Then, very slowly, began to growl.
*Who?* his wolf rumbled. *Who
