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“The basics. They’re responsible for housing over seventy million individuals. The brochures promise top-notch amenities and all-hours care staff, and there’s not a single lawsuit or code violation to contest those claims.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” he asked. “It’s hard to find a local diner without a flood of customer complaints, but a business that large is squeaky clean?”

“Maybe they’re just meticulous.”

“The best thieves are,” Fyn replied with a bitter snort. “The CEOs of non-profits seldom make the broadcasts, so few know Hal Seriville lives in grander luxury than the princes of some planets. Three mansions, a villa in Avalonus, more household staff than a five-star hotel—none of which can be attributed to wages or grants.”

“He’snotmisusing company funds?” Vela blinked. “Doesn’t sound like a thief to me.”

Fyn raised a finger, begging patience. “The Consortium keeps a close watch on anything they distribute. If Seriville misplaced a single government zenna, he’d find himself faced with at least a dozen audits. Bequeathals are another matter.”

A decent theory, but not without weakness. “If the company was leeching assets from their residents, an estate lawyer would have caught on by now.”

“Only if the company broke a law, which, technically, they haven’t.” A muscle in Fyn’s jaw twitched. “Their contracts give them the right to cut off communication with any relatives they deem abusive or otherwise harmful to their residents’ health. Records indicate they’ve played that card on no less than 10,000 occasions in the past three decades. Tell me, if Junior and Missy stop visiting out of the blue, abandoning Granny Dearest to the care of kindly strangers, who do you think will be cut from the will? More importantly, who will be added?”

Vela’s stomach did a cartwheel. If Fyn’s accusation was true, Seriville Services hadn’t only stolen money from their residents, they’d stolen precious final moments from their loved ones. “That’s a very big, veryconvenientclaim. Do you really expect me to take your word for it?”

“Not at all.” Fyn tapped Vela’s wrist console. “Check your contacts, and you’ll find a new entry for one Ms. Anyta Longsworth.”

Vela pulled away. “Any chance you’ll ever make a point without invading my privacy?”

“She was the first person I interviewed before taking this job,” Fyn continued, unfazed. “I’m here to return some of the funds Seriville stole. It won’t make up for the time she lost with her mother, but it’ll pay the rent, perhaps put her kids through school. Hear her out, and if you’re still not convinced, I’ll let you cuff me. I might even let you turn me in.”

Vela chose to ignore the bit about the cuffs. “It’s a dangerous game, recruiting a bounty hound to your cause.”

“If you haven’t picked up on it, I’m fond of games.” Fyn chuckled. “This job is too big for one person to pull off, and it’s too important to abandon. I need someone clever, intuitive, and kind to help me see it through.” He placed a hand on Vela’s shoulder, which somehow made her light-headed. The Camdian Violet of con artists, indeed. “We haven’t known each other long, but I’m positive we’d partner well.”

“In business,” Vela clarified, nervously shrugging his hand away.

“My mind was hovering far above the gutter, I assure you.” Fyn winked. “I would hate to get between you and your amber-eyed oaf. At least, not while your stun-gun is pointed his direction.”

To think, Vela’s stomach had just settled. “Kalis was a mistake.”

“A distant mistake you’re ready and eager to move on from?”

“Why so curious?” Vela asked, though the answer didn’t matter. Even if Fyn’s tale was true, she needed to arrest him. Didn’t she?

For some reason, the thought made her chest tighten.

“Never mind. I’m exhausted, and I’m not the only one.” She nodded toward the anglerbeast, which was finally beginning to settle down. “If we’re quiet, it might grow bored and leave.”

For some time after, the only sound was the whisper of clothing against stone as Fyn and Vela both attempted to get comfortable. Eventually, most of him wound up pressed against her, probably by accident.

If she’d complained, he would have given her space.

So she didn’t.

chapterseven

Vela seldom slept swaddledin less than four blankets, her head half-buried in a heap of overstuffed pillows. This is precisely the circumstance in which she assumed herself upon waking, warm and cozy, to the distantplinkof water on stone.

After a smothered attempt at stretching, she realized it was not a blanket wrapped around her, but arms, and the silken pillow against her cheek was really a curtain of luminous hair. It hadn’t been a dream, then. She’d dozed off in an anglerbeast burrow, her head tucked gently beneath a fugitive’s chin, her body rising and falling with his every breath.

She wanted, so badly, to hate it.

Mustering urgency where resentment had failed, she shifted to peer down the fissure and was pleased to note their hungry host had vanished. The motion woke Fyn, who released her with a stream of mumbled apologies. If she wasn’t mistaken, those glowing specks on his cheeks were the Pherenese equivalent of blushing. It would have been adorable on any of his faces.

“We should go.” Vela felt the walls for a crack with which to pull herself upright. “Who knows when the anglerbeast will waddle this way again.”