Brutus’s eyes narrowed with understanding, his expression darkening slightly. "You think the Director sent him as a spy. To keep tabs on what we’re doing here."
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with the certainty of someone who’d already reached the same conclusion.
"I know he did," I said flatly, abandoning any pretense of uncertainty. "Director Thalen doesn’t do anything without multiple layered reasons, without backup plans, contingencies, and angles I probably haven’t even considered yet. Sending Tora here as my supposed reward gives him eyes and ears directly inside our operation. Direct access to information about everything we’re doing, who we’re associating with, what we’re planning, how we’re operating. It’s brilliant, actually. Disguise surveillance as generosity."
"And we’ve got a lot of shit he absolutely can’t know about," Brutus finished grimly, his expression suggesting he was running through the same mental list I was.
"Exactly." I pushed myself out of the chair and began pacing the room. "Mavus Grey alone would be enough to get us killed if the Director found out. The single most wanted criminal in the entire city just casually sitting in our theater like it’s his personal vacation home. But then there’s everything else—the investigation into the Ivory Gambit faction that Lord Aldric commissioned us for, the deal we made with him to secure our spot in the Pantheon, the connections we’re building with various criminal elements..." I trailed off, the full weight of our vulnerability settling over me like a heavy cloak. "All of it, any single piece of it getting back to Thalen, could result in consequences I really don’t want to experience."
"Grave consequences," Brutus supplied with characteristic understatement.
"That’s putting it mildly." I turned away from the window to face him directly. "So the question becomes—what do we do about it? We can’t exactly tell Tora to leave, to pack up and go back to the tower. That would raise immediate suspicions and probably result in the Director sending someone less pleasant to investigate why we rejected his generous gift. Can’t kill him—"
"Obviously not," Brutus interjected firmly.
"—and we can’t just hope he doesn’t notice anything suspicious, because he’s not stupid. He’s going to see things, hear things, put pieces together. It’s inevitable given how much time he’ll be spending here."
Brutus was quiet for a long moment, his expression thoughtful in that heavy way that suggested he was working through complex problems. Then he said simply, "So we’re fucked then. No good options, just varying degrees of bad outcomes."
My expression curled into a smile—slow, sharp, carrying an edge of dark amusement. "Actually, no. We’re completely fine. Better than fine, potentially."
He blinked at me with visible confusion. "How exactly do you figure that? Because from where I’m standing, having a spy in our midst seems like a pretty significant problem without obvious solutions."
"Because Tora’s loyalty to me is stronger than his loyalty to the Director," I stated with absolute confidence.
Brutus stared at me for a long moment. Actually stared, like I’d just claimed water was dry or fire was cold or some other fundamental violation of reality. "You sound awfully fucking confident about that assessment," he said slowly. "Want to explain what makes you so certain?"
"I am confident. Completely."
"Why?"
I grinned wider, letting mischief color my expression. "I’m keeping that a secret. You’ll just have to trust my judgment on this one."
"Loona—" he started, frustration bleeding into his voice.
"Nope. Not telling. It’s personal information. You’ll just have to trust that I know what I’m talking about."
He made a sound of pure frustration, low and rumbling from deep in his chest, and I couldn’t help the genuine laugh that escaped despite the seriousness of our conversation.
"But," I continued, sobering slightly as I shifted back into planning mode, "that doesn’t mean we get sloppy or careless. We still need to keep a tight leash on what he sees and hears. Monitor his movements, control his access to sensitive information, make sure he’s not wandering into areas where he might stumble across things that would force him into impossible positions. And if circumstances call for it..." I paused deliberately, letting the implication hang in the air. "We use him against the Director. Turn their own surveillance tool into our weapon."
Brutus’s eyes widened slightly, genuine surprise breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. "You’d actually do that to him? Use Tora like that, knowing what it would cost him?"
"If I absolutely had to?" I met his gaze without flinching, letting him see the cold calculation beneath my usual performance. "Yeah. I would. Without hesitation if it meant survival for the rest of us."
The silence that followed was heavy and uncomfortable, weighted with implications neither of us wanted to examine too closely. Brutus finally nodded, slow and deliberate, his expression suggesting he was processing something he didn’t particularly like but understood the necessity of.
"You’ve gotten cold, you know that?" he said quietly. "Since we arrived here, since everything that happened with Elvina and the arena and all of it. There’s a hardness to you now that wasn’t there before."
"I know," I acknowledged simply. "Survival does that to people. This city does that to people. You either adapt and become harder, or you break and disappear."
"Just..." He paused, choosing his words with visible care. "Don’t lose yourself completely in the process. You’re still in there somewhere—the version of you that actually gives a shit about people, that cares about more than just strategic advantage. Don’t let that part die entirely."
I didn’t respond immediately, couldn’t really, because I wasn’t entirely sure he was right about that part of me still existing. The person I’d been before arriving in this city felt increasingly distant, like a character I’d once played but could no longer quite remember the lines for.
After a moment that stretched uncomfortably long, Brutus moved toward the door with his characteristic heavy tread. "I’ll keep an eye on him," he said over his shoulder. "Make sure he doesn’t wander into places he shouldn’t, doesn’t accidentally stumble across information that would complicate things. But Loona?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever you’re keeping from me about why Tora won’t betray you, whatever this secret certainty you have... it better be solid. Rock solid. Because if you’re wrong about his loyalty, if you’ve miscalculated..." He left the sentence unfinished, but the implication was clear enough.
"I’m not wrong," I said with quiet conviction.
He studied me for a long moment, his eyes searching my expression for cracks or doubts. Then he nodded once, accepting my certainty even if he didn’t understand its source, and left the room without another word.
I stood alone in the space surrounded by Felix’s obsessive artwork covering every available wall surface, watching the fire slowly die in the hearth as flames gradually consumed the last of their fuel.
Tora wouldn’t betray me. I was absolutely certain of that fact, as certain as I was of my own name. The real question, the one that kept nagging at the back of my mind despite my confidence, was what it would ultimately cost him when he finally had to choose between his loyalty to me and his obligations to the Director. What price he’d pay for that choice, and whether I’d be able to live with myself for putting him in that position.
But that was a problem for future Loona to wrestle with. Present Loona had enough complications to manage without borrowing trouble from hypothetical scenarios that might never materialize.
I turned away from the fire and headed for the door. There was work to be done, plans to refine, chaos to orchestrate.
The show, as they say, must go on.