Page 16 of Rook

A growl rumbles in my chest, more warning than words. The girls pick up on it fast, their smiles fading as they scatter away from me like sparrows startled into flight.

“Brother, you need to unwind.” Nero shakes his head, disappointment lacing his voice. “This is Oasis. You can’t tell me there’s nothing here that tempts you.”

“Trust me, nothing tempts me less than these games.” I push back from the table, the last game’s winnings forgotten. “When do we cut through the crap and get to Pacific City?”

He flicks his wrist, dismissing my impatience like ashes from a cigar. “You really think I dragged you all the way to Oasis for fun? Gunnar, relax, we’ll talk shop. But there’s no harm in enjoying the scenery.”

I lean forward, elbows on the table, my patience threadbare. “The only view I’m interested in is one where Vance Solace isn’t breathing down our necks anymore.”

“Ah, but your heart’s still tangled up with that omega, isn’t it?” Nero’s eyebrow arches, sharp as a blade. “I hear things, Gunnar. You were fuming when you came looking for me after New Eden.”

“Whatever issues I have with Aisling, they’re mine to sort,” I snap. “First, I have to settle the score with Vance.”

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses, a quick glance over his shoulder. “Walls have ears, especially in Oasis. Vance could have eyes and ears anywhere.”

“Fine,” I concede, voice dropping to a whisper. “But we’re not dancing around this all night. I want a plan, Nero. I want it now.”

A tap on my shoulder jolts me, and I whip around to find a waitress with a practiced smile. “Miss Toure will see you now.”

Nero’s grin is all teeth, self-satisfied as ever. “Told you I was working on it.”

We rise in unison, leaving the clatter of chips and murmurs of gamblers behind. Nero leads, swaggering like he owns the damn place. I follow, keeping my posture rigid, every step calculated.

“Watch your six,” I murmur, my gaze sweeping over the sea of faces. You don’t survive in our line of work without a healthy dose of paranoia.

“We’re fine, Gunnar,” he shoots back, but his attention’s already snagged by a passing waitress bearing a tray of colorful drinks. “No one will hurt us here; Inari Toure is a friend.”

The casino’s a hive of decadence, each drone buzzing about their business. Some things never change, no matter the city. We navigate through the throngs, headed for a golden elevator that shines like a beacon. It’s guarded by two alphas built like tanks, assault rifles cradled in their arms. Their eyes are sharp, scanning everyone who approaches.

“Is that why she sent guys with guns to watch you?” I ask, tipping my chin toward the guards as we close the distance.

“Ha ha,” Nero replies. He flashes a card at them, and we’re granted passage without a word.

Inside the elevator, it’s just us and the hum of machinery. The ascent is smooth, silent. Tension coils in my gut.

I’ve been in enough meetings to know they can go south real quick.

“Ready to charm the queen of Oasis?” Nero asks, breaking the quiet.

“Charm isn’t exactly my style,” I grunt.

“Maybe not, but keep the growling to a minimum, huh?”

“Depends on what she has to say.”

The doors part, revealing an office that’s more museum than workspace, relics of a world long gone displayed like trophies. There are pieces of art bedecking the walls—old world shit, from before the Mutation. My boots sink into plush carpet as we step into history reborn, or maybe just preserved.

Hell, it’s hard to tell these days.

The office swallows us whole, gilt and grandeur that’s borderline obscene. Nero’s got a half-smirk on his face like he’s in on a joke I’m too pissed to laugh at. Me? I’m all tight shoulders and clenched fists, feeling like a bull in a china shop with these relics around me.

We take a few more steps forward, and there she sits: Inari Toure, framed by the city lights spilling through her floor-to-ceiling windows. She’s the eye of a hurricane, calm and deadly; power isn’t just something she has—it’s something she is. Her silver dress clings and glitters with every subtle movement, making the shadows dance at her command. Makeup flawless, not a smear or smudge—like war paint for the modern queen she is, violet eyeshadow on dark brown skin.

And there’s a presence beside her, silent as a ghost—a single female omega bodyguard, head shaved, a living statement that screams defiance louder than words ever could.

“Ah, here they are,” Inari rises to her feet, the fluid grace of her movements a stark reminder of the control she wields over everything, including herself. “Nero, always a pleasure.” Her hand extends towards him first, a slender bridge between empires.

“Always, Inari,” Nero responds, taking her hand with practiced ease. He bends to brush a kiss to her knuckles, his eyes locked on hers. I wonder if they’ve ever…no, scratch that.

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