Chapter 4
My hand clenches around the strap of my laptop bag as I head for the entrance of the Blue Note on Tuesday.
The data leak is a trail I can’t search from my apartment, and I’m tired of staring at the walls. The silence only amplifies the memory of that sizzle of awareness when my stare first met Orien’s, a connection that can’t be allowed.
I had to get out. Research says the Blue Note never truly closes, with regulars going in and out of the bar at all hours of the day and night. A different crowd might offer a new thread to pull. It’s a long shot, but better than letting my own thoughts splinter.
The infiltration needs to bear fruit, and soon.
As I reach for the handle, I hold my breath, half expecting our intel to be wrong.
The windows appear dark from the outside, the neon ‘Open’ sign unlit, and no hours are posted.
I brace for resistance, for a locked door to turn me away.
But the handle gives, the door swinging inward as smoothly as it has every other night.
I straighten my spine, stepping across the threshold with an ease I don’t feel, another regular returning to his haunt.
My laptop bag bumps a steady rhythm against my hip.
I’d toned down the usual Lee persona in deference to the daylight, wearing an oversized crewneck over dark skinny jeans, the same sparkly barrette holding my hair back.
I touch the flat silver disk on my nape guard, a subtle replacement for the flashy jewel I’ve been wearing.
Now to find my first target.
Kain sits at a table off to the side, focused on the tablet the Omega beside him holds. He laughs, the sound carrying across the quiet room, and it draws me closer.
So, no jukebox for the daytime.
The Omega ducks his head, shoulders curling inward to protect the sleek device in his hands, but his knee touches Kain’s under the table.
Kain leans farther into his space instead of backing off, grinning as the Omega squirms.
I recognize the Omega from Kain’s show last week. He had sat near the stage, his focus so locked on Kain that the room might as well have been empty.
Today, an oversized hoodie swallows him, sleeves pulled over his hands as a stylus taps a frantic rhythm on a tablet screen.
Kain sprawls beside him in faded jeans and a worn T-shirt, limbs arranged in a pose of studied nonchalance. His arm stretches across the back of the Omega’s chair, not quite touching, a subtle claim on the space.
I flash a bright smile, invading their little bubble without remorse. “Afternoon.”
I set my bag on the chair across from them and slide into the empty seat on Kain’s other side. Pulling out my laptop, I flip it open, signaling I’m here to stay.
Kain cocks an eyebrow at me. “Afternoon, Lee. Have you met Reef?”
Reef’s head lifts, giving a single, vague dip of his chin before his attention returns to his device.
“Hey,” I say, despite having already lost his obvious disinterest, and turn back to Kain. “Didn’t expect you to be up this early.”
“Some days, we might as well live here. Isn’t that right?” He nudges Reef, who swats him away with irritation.
I open a blank workspace on my laptop. “Are you prepping for the set tonight?”
“Just the sound check.” Kain peers down at the ice cubes rattling around in his glass. “Rest of the band won’t drag their asses in until the last possible minute.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t pry. I let Kain talk, focusing on the website I’m building for a non-existent client. Beside him, Reef gives no sign he registers our conversation, his entire focus on the tablet in his hands.
“Crowd’s supposed to be big,” Kain continues. “Owner’s pushing the blues angle harder than usual. Says it builds a better clientele. Less property damage.”
I keep my attention on the laptop screen. “Is that a problem here?”
Kain shrugs. “It was before, but Orien keeps the crowd in line now. Can’t say I miss the occasional airborne beer bottle from people wanting rock music or—” He shudders dramatically. “Heavy metal.”
Reef snickers, proving he’s not ignoring the conversation, even if he’s not engaging.
My pulse ticks up at the mention of the crew’s fixer. “Is he the head of security, or…?”
“Security, yeah,” Kain fills in, “but also whatever you call the guy who handles the owner’s problems. He’s in charge when Rowan’s not around.”
I try to include Reef in the conversation, but his attention remains locked on his tablet.
Kain leans back, the chair creaking. “This is the first time you’ve come in this early.”
“I got tired of staring at my walls at home, and I heard this place is open during the day, too.” I gesture around the lounge. “And I was banking on it being less crowded than the coffee shop I tried last time.”
“And your assessment?” he says, giving the table a gentle nudge with his knee. “Do we meet expectations?”
I laugh, and the sound is genuine. “So far, so good.”
Reef’s tapping pauses, and for a split second, I think he’s going to join the conversation. But he taps the screen again, absorbed.
“Reef’s in focus mode,” Kain explains. “There’s a Pulse Riot competition coming up. Big cash prize.”
My brow furrows. “What’s Pulse Riot?”
“It’s a rhythm game.” When I continue to frown, he adds, “You know, similar to the dancing one, only on a mobile device.”
Reef clicks his tongue in annoyance.
“Sorry, my bad.” Kain gives him an apologetic smile before he turns back to me.
As he talks, I track the way his body adjusts, making micro-corrections every time Reef shifts. It’s a confusing dynamic. The almond-colored nape guard around Reef’s neck means they aren’t bonded. So why does every one of Kain’s unconscious movements claim him, anyway?
“It’s not just tapping,” Kain explains, leaning forward. “You’ve got six strike zones, reactive lighting, and the beat-map distorts when you hit a streak. It’s about predicting the rhythm instead of reacting.”
I glance at Reef again and notice the earbud peeking out of his left ear.
Kain finishes his drink, and before the glass hits the table, Reef’s head pops up and his tablet comes down.
He stands, stretching. “Drink?”
“Go for it,” Kain says, following Reef’s progress through the crowd.
Reef moves as though underwater, slow and unsteady, and the staff step aside for him without hesitation.
At the counter, a man in a gray jacket bends close, his voice swallowed by the room’s low hum. Reef brightens as he listens.
A moment later, the man scribbles on a cocktail napkin and slides it into Reef’s hand.
Reef tucks it into the pocket of his skinny jeans as Ghost finishes his order, and he floats back to our table.
He sets the drinks down, slides back into his seat, and pulls the napkin from his pocket to display it with a proud smirk. “I got a number.”
Kain’s grin surfaces, then vanishes. “You gonna call him?”
“Text first,” Reef says, already pulling out his phone. “He says he’s new in town and wants to know all the hot spots.”
“Be careful,” Kain says, offering advice rather than a warning.
Reef beams at his screen, already composing a message.
Kain squints at the bottom of his glass. “Did you forget the cherries?”
Reef blinks at the glass, as if he’s never seen it before. “Sorry.”
He leaps up to go back for them, leaving his phone on the table.
The moment he’s gone, Kain reaches across, grabs the cocktail napkin, and without a word crumples it into a ball and dunks it into his half-empty water glass.
The paper absorbs the liquid, the ink bleeding out and blooming blue.
The napkin sinks.
“That’s messed up,” I comment.
Kain snorts as he deletes the message Reef was in the middle of composing. “He won’t even remember he got it. He’s not into dating sims right now.”
He returns the phone to its spot beside Reef’s tablet as the Omega returns, carrying a little bowl of maraschino cherries. He sets it next to Kain’s drink.
“Thank you so much. Sorry I interrupted you,” Kain says. “What were you saying?”
Reef blinks at him in confusion, already reaching for his tablet. With a couple more blinks, his focus returns to his game.
The stylus’s tapping fills the air while the phone sits forgotten on the arm of the chair, screen dark. Kain arches one brow at me, and I shrug in response. The bowl of cherries sits untouched after that, and the napkin dissolves, its message erased.
I return my focus to the decoy project, letting their conversation fade into background noise. Kain’s voice is a quiet murmur, a constant presence beside Reef’s focused silence.
Their dynamic is a closed circuit, and not one I think I can break.
By the time I shut my laptop, the sun is heading toward the horizon, and the crowd has thickened. The regulars have been replaced by people in groups, voices louder, movement more chaotic.
Kain checks the time and leans closer to Reef. “I need to do a sound check. You want to move to the booth near the stage?”
Reef ignores him, his focus absolute.
“Okay, then.” Kain downs the rest of his drink. “Have fun.”
With a wink at me, he saunters off toward the stage.
The space Kain occupied feels suddenly empty. I’m left with Reef and the silence between us, broken only by the frantic tap of his stylus.
Three minutes stretch on, and Reef gives no sign he’s even aware Kain has gone.
I’m on the verge of putting away my laptop to go find someone else to pump for information when Reef’s head lifts. “What do you do?”
His tone is flat, but it’s the first time he’s initiated, and I’ll take the opening.
“Graphic design,” I say.
He stares, waiting for the rest.
“Branding, websites, and campaign work. Most of my clients are midsize businesses. Sometimes I do package design.”
His tablet goes down, and for the first time since I sat at the table, Reef looks directly at me.
A prickle of unease runs down my spine. Behind his rectangular glasses, his brown eyes are sharp, with no hint of the earlier fog.
“You ever do identity systems, or just logos?”
“Identity systems, when the client pays for it. I did the last three for a chain restaurant in Northpoint.”