42: Brice
Brice
Fen stood with her hands on her hips, shaking her head slowly.
“And Macklyn reckoned you’d be hard to catch,” she said as Brice stepped from between the rows of shelves. “I told him it was down to luck. And I knew your luck would run out sooner or later.”
The woman in black stood behind Fen. She picked at a nail, didn’t appear to be paying any attention. But her trace throbbed with intent.
“So this was a trap,” Brice said.
“You have to ask?”
He didn’t. It was there, in her noise. They knew he couldn’t let the Cyastone go, so they used it as bait, monitored his every move. Already knew Tek was heading this way.
And the attack in the gorge? It didn’t feature in Fen’s mind—at least, not as far as Brice could tell. Maybe it was nothing to do with the company. Or maybe
