Flinx was waiting when I got back, his sleek black form perched on my workstation. His eyes glowed brighter when he saw me, and I felt his concern through the link before he even spoke.
“Standard.” I sat down and pulled up my personal data stream. Not the official ones that Tarsus monitored. The hidden partition I’d built three years ago. “I have to meet with the Vinduthi this afternoon. Private consultation.”
“That’s him.” I started pulling records, searching for anything on Brevan Korven. “Tarsus wants me to impress him. Which means I need to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”
The first hits came back immediately.Brevan Korven. Vinduthi male, age unknown. Registered operations in theOuter Sectors. Known for high-value acquisitions, mostly art and antiquities.
I scrolled through the datastream. Documented transactions with legitimate auction houses. Zero arrests. Zero legal issues.
“Nobody’s this good.” I compared his records to known criminals in the database. The real ones always had flags. A disgruntled business partner. A transaction that went sideways.
This file had no edges. No imperfections.
“This reads like someone built a cover identity and forgot to add the parts that make people real.”
Flinx sent, his voice flat.
“I know.” Flinx was right. This wasn’t about the Vinduthi. This was about Tarsus. Brevan Korven was just the tool. A new, dangerous variable in a game I was already losing.
I pulled his image file. The official headshot showed a Vinduthi male in formal wear. Gray skin. Red eyes. A row of small horns running back from each temple. Gold tracery marking his temples and throat. He looked dangerous. They all did. But there was something else in the image, something about the way he held himself. Too relaxed. Too comfortable.
Like he knew the camera was there and was performing for it.
Flinx sent.
“I know.” I closed the files and rubbed my temples. Two hours until the consultation. Two hours to figure out what Brevan Korven actually wanted and whether it aligned with my plan or destroyed it completely. “He’s a complication. A variable I hadn’t accounted for.”
“No.”
“Flinx.” I looked down at him. “You stay here and monitor the containment fields.”
“Then the thirty-seven cameras and the security team monitoring them will handle it.” I reached out and ran my hand along his spine, feeling the data-ports under the synthetic fur. “I need you safe. You’re the backup plan.”
His eyes dimmed slightly.
“Neither do I.” I keyed open the door. “But we don’t have to like it. We just have to survive it.”
BREVAN
“And this piece dates to the Xunzil Dynasty, thirteenth century, though the provenance documentation has some inconsistencies that would concern a serious collector.”
Carys stood in front of a jade sculpture, her hands clasped behind her back. The collar at her throat caught the museum’s indirect lighting.
She hadn’t looked at me directly since we’d started the tour fifteen minutes ago.
“Inconsistencies,” I repeated. “Could you elaborate?”
