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She was all smiles a day or two ago, all warmth and surrender.

Now, she was icy cool and guarded.

His jaw ticked. He didn’t have time to unravel her contradictions.

Not until later.

They descended into the lower decks of theSombra, where the maximum security prison sprawled over three extensive decks.

The cells were old-school containment chambers with thick steel mesh doors, magnetic locks, and reinforced alloy walls with residual marks from past prisoners.

It wasn’t pretty or high-tech.

It didn’t need to be. It was meant to hold dangerous things, not comfort them.

The stench of regret still lived here, somewhere between the stale recirculated air and rusted floor grates.

A few of Salvadore Lombardi’scaposhad already been extracted from holding and were waiting for them in an interrogation room.

The first two sweated through their stories with impressive consistency.

The third was a bit shaky, but confirmed the key facts: Eugene promised immunity to any house that helped take down Signet.

Xander crossed his arms, watching them all with the impassive stillness of someone who buried worse men than these.

Then Salvadore was brought in.

The Don of the Lombardi house looked less puffed-up today, more drawn, his bravado frayed around the edges. His shirt clung damply to his back, collar open, chest heaving with defeat.

At first, Xander didn’t say a word; he just let his golden-violet gaze burn through the bastard.

Miral glimmered beside him, in her layered suit of living code. Her noid cloud was already flickering like silver threads encircling her.

Savvine stood tall at his other side, impassive but unreadable.

She didn’t look at Xander once.

He shrugged, refusing to indulge his growing annoyance at her reticence.

Xander stepped toward the Don.

‘You’ve got one chance to convince us not to throw you out of an airlock and into the void,’ he grated. ‘Start talking.’

Salvadore glared at him, then glanced at Savvine, his mouth twisting. ‘Ever the executioner, wolf king.’

Xander didn’t blink. ‘Santefor the flattery. Now speak. Last warning lest I unleash my friend Miral on you.’

The Synth AI didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

However, a shimmer of light bloomed across her shoulder like liquid glass. Followed by the sudden emergence of noids from the air.

They formed into a sleek storm of glittering threads curling around her body.

The tendrils reached for Salvadore, promising untold horror.

The Don flinched.

‘Va bene,porca miseria, I’ll talk,’ he spat. ‘We were strong-armed. All of us. Eugene said he’d bomb every one offokkin’ clans into oblivion if we didn’t strike at Signet.’