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Lan shifts forward, finally.

He cracks the box open—just a fraction—and sniffs the air like a bloodhound bred for disaster.

And then his mocking demeanor falls like a collapsing scaffold.

“Wolf,” he mutters, tone sharpening. “Lowland variety. Eau de Entitlement and dickhead shampoo.”

“His name is Kit,” I confirm, voice clipped. “He gifted this to Blake—Taylor,” I’m quick to tack on her last name and explain, not wanting my brothers to suspect any personal interest. “He pursued her while she worked at The Gentlemen’s Study, despite her rejection.”

“Blake Taylor.” Lan’s lips part in a slow exhale. “The former stripper you had me run a background check when looking at potential employees?”

“She’s our new stage producer,” I correct, sharply, because I need to. “This isn’t about her. It’s about securing The Place before we open. If she’s distracted, it’ll fuck up our opening night.”

“Sure,” Lan murmurs. “It’s not about her. This being the same woman that you claimed on Blood Street as your girlfriend?”

The knowing smug expression of his cements it. I’ll do what I have to to get into Wren and his place and ruin Count Chocula for him forever. Of course Lan would know about that one instance of me playing the knight in shining armor. He has more ears and eyes in the Barrows than anyone else. It’s how Ambrose knows everything going on in our territory.

Kasar flips over the card with one martial-fingered hand, sniffing once. His expression doesn’t shift, but his grip tightens, pale scars on his knuckles blanching further.

“A threat?” he asks.

“A misguided amorous gift.” The words come out colder than I intend, but I’m standing too close to this fire to pretend I haven’t already singed myself. “The bracelet’s custom. She says it’s a replica of one she was given after her first feature performance. She wore the original every set for years. And this bastard either watched her for long enough to note it—or he got close enough to dig through her personal life.”

Lan lowers the box lid with two fingers, wrist loose and casual. Dangerous casual.

“Must’ve been quite the set,” he remarks dryly. “Though I’ve got to ask—when did tracking down shit-tier admirers start warranting clan resources?”

Kasar looks at me. Not at the table. Not at the note. Me.

And fuck if that doesn’t rankle.

“It’s not about . . . her,” I grit out again. “It’s about the optics of a security threat this close to opening. Blake is vital to the success of The Place. If she’s compromised, so is the show—and the investment behind it. Remember, this is the Nightshades’ first official venture Topside.”

Lan snorts, the sound ripe with disbelief. Fuck if I can’t blame him. I’m the one who said it and even I know that sounds pathetic.

“Right,” he says. “And you thought the appropriate way of handling that was to bring a scent-drenched seduction bomb back to vampire headquarters for a three-man task force.”

He leans back with a near-flippant sigh, lacing his fingers behind his head like his sole job in the universe is holding up the ceiling.

“And here I thought Kasar was the one prone to overkill.”

Kasar, infuriatingly silent until now, murmurs, “He also told Kit that she was his girlfriend at her last shift at the club. Deidre heard it from Darcy the next morning at Black Death Beanery.”

Fuck.

I glare at both of them, but it’s clear the damage is done. They’ve seen the fraying edges I didn’t intend for anyone, least of all these two, to notice.

I jab a finger toward Lan.

“I need everything on Kit. Pack affiliation, previous den locations, any exes with missing pet reports or restraining orders. Social media aliases, mental health red flags. Known associates. I need to know how serious he is about pursuing her.”

Then I turn to Kasar, pointing next. “You track him in person. Current movement. Proximity to Blake.”

“Should I grab him and bring him to Noir?” Our enforcer’s voice is clinical.

For a moment I consider how satisfying it would be to give Kit the same treatment that I doled out to Davin. Except we have standards and right now Kit is annoying, but not technically a danger to the Nightshade clan. I shake my head once. “Information only.”

“Just surveillance,” Kasar echoes, gaze unmoving from mine. It’s not a question yet. Not quite. But it’s getting there.