The most important thing Eira had wanted to confirm that night was the accident.
Not the interview, not the broadcast, not even the glorious collapse of powerful people's faces when Phei turned their trap into public slaughter with polite lighting. Those things were entertaining, yes, and Eira had enjoyed them with the bright little cruelty of a spirit who appreciated good craftsmanship in disaster.
But beneath all the glamour, humiliation and legacy screaming, there had been one matter that mattered more than the rest.
Pemberton.
His mysterious disappearance had not been a quiet clue:
It had been instead a warning bell so loud, ugly and insistent, ringing through both Eira's and Phei's instincts like fate had leaned close and whispered, "Enjoy the evening, little fools, I am about to complicate everything again."
