17
Goosebumps crawled up Ridley’s arms, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. “Illicit underworld … of magic?” she whispered. “Why—why would I know about that?”
He frowned. “Because you’re a thief?”
“Oh.” Her racing pulse slowed slightly. “Right.”
He leaned forward against the back of the couch, his eyes never leaving her. “You really expect me to believe that you, a criminal, know nothing about the people who live illegally beneath the city’s surface where the drones can’t detect them?”
“I’m not that kind of criminal,” Ridley answered. “I keep to myself. I steal things and pass them on to Ezra. That’s pretty much it for my criminal life.”
“Oh. That’s a bit of a letdown.” Archer pushed away from the couch. “Here I was thinking I’ve been in the company of a genuine crook
