Page 61 of Song Bird Hearts

I look at him, my heart pinching. “Knox?—”

He holds up a hand. “I said I think. Not that I will.” He looks away, jaw clenched, then exhales through his nose and drops into the chair across from me. “You want the truth? If it were me, I’d have done the same thing. Lie, play it close to the vest, make sure there were no loose ends. And I wouldn’t have told you unless I had to. I just. . . wouldn’t have let myself get attached if there was some other motivation.”

“But you are,” I say softly.

Knox’s mouth twitches. “Yeah. I am.”

Silence settles between us. It isn’t cold, but it also isn’t easy.

“I don’t trust him,” Knox says after a heartbeat. “Not yet. It depends on what he brings back, if that changes. If he brings back something worth a damn. . . maybe I’ll forgive him. But that’s not a promise.”

I nod. “That’s fair.”

Gilden’s voice cuts in, quieter now. “You’ve already forgiven him though, huh,mon rossignol?”

I look down into my glass, the firelight dancing in the amber. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I think I have.”

We were quiet after that. Just the sound of the mountain wind outside and the soft pop of burning logs breaks the silence.

Knox leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at me. Gilden slides off the arm of the couch and stretches out beside Kevin.

I just lean my head back against the couch cushions, caught between them. My heart aches in every direction.

But for the first time in years. . .

. . . I feel anything but alone.

Chapter30

Wolf

Iwalk back in like I never left, even temporarily. I’m wearing my signature crisp back suit. I’m clean-shaven. I’m calm like a still pond, all my emotions locked down tight. The Wolf these people know is brutal and unforgiving. The Wolf these people know doesn’t look at a woman the way I look at Valerie Decatur.

I can’t let them see that Wolf. It’s for her eyes, and her eyes alone.

One of the many headquarters of the Foundation is tucked into the bones of an old observatory outside Pheonix. It’s glass and steel buried in the desert rock, beautiful in that sterile, dead way. It’s the kind of beauty you stare at too long before you realize it wants to bury you. As large as this place is, most people don’t even know it exists, assuming it’s some rich people’s luxury getaway or some high-class hotel. No one ever checks into the details twice. Most don’t even check once.

I don’t flinch when they scan my ID at the door, don’t blink when the guards raise an eyebrow. It’s not unusual for me to be gone for months at a time, moving between the 27 Foundation’s many properties depending on the time of year. There shouldn’t be any surprise about me being here even if it’s the wrong time of year, but the guard, despite his initial reaction, doesn’t say anything.

They let me through. Because even here—especially here—I still hold weight. Another high ranking cog in their machine. But not for long. Not anymore.

The vault is on the third sublevel. I know the path like the back of my hand and have made the same trip a thousand times in the last few years. I’ve walked this same path with blood on my shoes once, a Foundation mission in Istanbul, one no one talks about. Hell, no one really talks about anything here. That’s how secrets are kept. That’s how they’ve remained in the shadows.

I’m not supposed to be back here, not really. And certainly not alone. It’s only a matter of time before someone shows up to ask questions. But I keep moving.

Because Valerie Decatur asked me for a storm, and I’m going to bring her one.

I pass all the checks, and my ID lets me in each and every lock. No one stops me. No one says a word. By the time I make my way into the vault and I’m staring at all the lockers, I realize something is off. I should have never made it this far, which means, they must want me to. This is probably a trap. Despite that, I don’t stop. I know what I’m looking for. I know which locked door I need.

I find it in Locker C-12, right where I expect it to be. It’s been locked behind biometrics and passcodes. Getting into the locker costs me a thumbprint.

Not mine.

Someone else’s. I don’t think the guy will be needing it anymore when the Foundation finds out it’s his I used.

I get a good look at it when I open the door and stare inside at the only item sitting on the shelf.

The black book isn’t just a ledger.

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