EMBER’S POV“DEAL,” Queenie announces, at a volume clearly designed to break up whatever is happening between us, clapping her hands together with enormous cheer. “Okay! Wonderful! It’s decided! Ember’s a feral heiress shopping for rough trade; Knox is her devastatingly jealous bodyguard who’s going to assault the staff; Devika’s the madam of a crime lord’s brothel floor, and we are all going to a rogue casino, and there’s a doll of Knox somewhere getting pelted with eggs. This is, without question, the healthiest thing this friend group has ever done together.” She spins her tablet around and stands. “Now. Nathaniel.”And the temperature in the room drops about ten degrees because she says his name the way you’d address a stranger, flat and professional, and I watch him go carefully still.“Nathaniel runs comms,” she continues, not looking at him, all business. “From the car. He’s got eyes on the building; he’s in our ears; he pulls us out if it goes sideways. He does not come inside
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