The hallway was a tunnel of dark wood and silent carpet. Joey moved through it in an oversized white bathrobe.
The sleeves were rolled into thick, clumsy knots. She didn't make a sound. Her bare feet were cold. She was thinking about the heated bathtub and humming a pop song that was three notes off.
She turned the corner. Lao K stood in front of two black-lacquered doors. He was back in the suit. The pizza hat was gone. His face was a slab of granite.
"Whoa. Pizza Guy," Joey said. She grinned.
"The fake mustache was a mistake. It looked like a dying caterpillar. You got any more of those olives with the chips in them? I'm hungry."
Lao K stiffened. His eyes shifted to the doors.
"Miss Joey. Return to your quarters. The Boss is in a briefing. It is not to be interrupted."
Joey crossed her arms over the fluff. "Is it Mafia business? Boring. Tell him to move it. He promised to help find my sock. The one with the duck in the tiny hat. You don't leave a duck hanging, K."
A shout cut through the wood. It was gut-wrenching. Then the sharp, crystalline crack of a glass hitting a wall.
Joey flinches. The grin died. She tilted her head toward the silence that followed.
"Is he okay?" she asked. Her voice lost its lilt. "He only breaks things when he's mad. Or the toaster wins."
Lao K was sweating. His hand twitched near his holster. "He is negotiating. Standard procedure. Please. Go back."
Joey didn't move back. She didn't see a General. She didn't see a King. She heard a friend breaking things. She stepped around Lao K. She grabbed the gold handles and heaved. The doors groaned and gave way.
The office was amber and dim. It smelled of stale tobacco and old fear. Xingcheng stood in the center of the room. He held a man by the collar, lifting him half-off the floor. The man was shaking.
Xingcheng's face was a mask of cold steel. His eyes were dead. The warmth from the balcony had been scrubbed away. He looked like a stone god who had forgotten how to bleed.
"Cheng!" Joey's voice cut the room like a blade of light. "Have you seen my duck sock? Also, stop being a bully. He's going to cry. Nobody likes a bully in an expensive suit."
The change was instant. A switch flipped. Xingcheng's hand opened. The man hit the carpet like a sack of grain. The Shadow Emperor's shoulders dropped. The mask shattered.
"Joey," Xingcheng said. His voice was a rasp, breathless. "I told you to wait. Why are you out here? You're barefoot. The floor is ice."
Joey walked into the room. She stepped over the shards of a broken crystal glass.
"I waited ten minutes. That's a year in Joey-time. I got bored. The bathtub has too many buttons."
She looked at the spy on the floor. The man's mouth hung open. He looked like he was seeing a ghost.
"Is this your friend?" Joey asked the spy. "You're pale. You need a nap. Does he need an egg? Cheng made a rubbery one earlier. It might help."
Xingcheng looked at the floor. His neck turned a dull red. He felt Lao K's stare from the door. He felt the spy's confusion.
He let out a long, defeated breath and dropped to his knees. He started crawling, looking under the massive mahogany desk.
"It's not here, Joey," he muttered from the shadows near the floor. "I checked the safe. I checked the shredder. Did you leave it in the van?"
The spy watched. He looked at Joey. Then he looked at Lu Xingcheng—the man who was about to snap his ribs—crawling on a fifty-thousand-dollar rug for a sock with a duck on it.
A sharp realization crossed the spy's face. The monster was gone. He saw a target. He watched the way Xingcheng's eyes never left the girl in the bathrobe.
The spy reached slowly into his pocket. His eyes locked on Joey. He realized the truth. The King didn't have a fortress. He had a girl who didn't know how to use a bathtub.
She was the only weakness he had. And she was standing right there.