I slipped in after him down the hallway. I kept my eyes moving; I couldn't take his word on faith. He might not be the Organisation's Kingfish. He could have been Rose—or the Triangle Union.
But everything he'd said about both was right. He'd had plenty of chances to hit me and never did—just watched. That was the only decent reason I had to follow him into his place.
We moved through a narrow, dark corridor. I stared at his broad shoulders and that red helmet. At the end, he stopped at a metal door. He lived as if he slept in a dungeon.
I drew a breath, slid my hand into my bag, and closed it around my gun. The iron door creaked; my brows knitted. He slipped inside without a glance. I paused on the threshold, looked in. Fake blonde fringe stuck to my sweaty forehead. I scanned the room, then took a careful first step over the line.
Weird. A huge basement that had once been a storeroom and now looked like anything but. A king-size bed sat in the corner against rough stone. A large painting of London hung on the grey walls. On the left: a monster rig—four monitors and two black-and-red gaming chairs. A tiny kitchen at the far end. The ceiling was low; the overhead lights were intentionally dim, so the RGB glow lit half the room on its own.
I edged towards the centre of the space and said, low, "How do I know you're really KingFish?"
His voice came from behind me. I spun.
"What do you think?"
I stared. He'd taken off the helmet. In the low light his hair looked light brown. And his eyes—two different colours. One a warm brown; the other… blue. Maybe green.
He was severin Harper—one of Rose's key prodigies: a young genius they'd first underestimated because of his past; saddled with the most ridiculous code name imaginable—KingFish—and then, slowly, he'd proved more dangerous than their best assassins.
I blinked, stepped back, and pulled my hand out of the bag. He glanced at my bag, smirking.
"You're aiming that gun at the wrong target."
He lifted a remote and clicked it. A ceiling light snapped on behind him, washing a wall I hadn't noticed. I stared. Photos and notes. Newspapers. Documents. With a little focus, you could piece it together. He was tracking someone—or something—tied to both the Union and Rose.
Still looking at the wall, he said, almost bored, "You and I want the same thing."
I turned towards him. His jaw was tight; there was a strange light in his eyes, like you could read the dangerous thoughts moving there. Calmly, he added,
"I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to help me finish the plan."
I frowned, still ready to draw on him. "Why did you leave Rose? Why should I believe you'd turn on the organisation you served for years—and help me?"
He set the helmet on the little black dining table and faced me. There was something in his look I'd seen in very few people: a kind of fearless pride. He slid his hands into the pockets of his black trousers and said, eyes on mine,
"Because they turned my life into hell. And now I'm going to light my own blaze."
He leaned back against the wall and held my gaze, cool and unfazed.
"You think you're the only one who walked? In the last few months, Rose has lost some of its best operatives. They turned on it. That includes you and me."
I knitted my brows, trying to line up the thoughts. Others had left? If that was true, it meant a mutiny—an outright revolt.
His voice stayed cold and compelling, but there was a careless smile in it.
"Did you really think the Organisation only wrecked your life?"
I studied his eyes and stepped closer to the wall.
My photo was up there too—caught as I left the airport.
So he'd had eyes on me for a long time.
I swept the wall with my gaze… and when I saw Ashur's photo—with that viper tattoo curling over his temple—my stomach dropped. He stepped in beside me and stared at the wall too, like we were two people in a museum, studying a single painting.
My voice came out rough, steady.
"What are you trying to do?"
He drew a thoughtful breath, eyes on the evidence, then flashed a toothy smile—energized.
"I'm going to bring down the Rose Organization and the Triangle Union."
I stared at his profile, stunned. His eyes were lit up, the way an artist glows when a piece finally clicks. They practically sparked.
With a scoff, still looking at his profile, I said,
"You said you were building a boat."
He turned to me, a sly smile tugging at his mouth.
"I'm the Noah of this story, Viuna… and I'm building an ark."