REOMEN
The walk across the marble floor of The Met's Temple of Dendur felt like crossing a minefield in six-inch heels. I kept my hand firm on the small of Paige's back, a deliberate, unbreakable point of contact.
I could feel the tension thrumming through her, a live wire threatening to snap. Good. Let her be tense. Let her be furious. It made her sharp.
And I needed her sharp for this.
We found them near the ancient stones, holding court. Shunsuke Rimestone, a monument to cold, traditional power in his Kiton tuxedo.
Barbara, his impeccably dressed enabler in a severe, black Alaïa gown. They were speaking with a couple of other silver-haired titans of industry, their smiles as genuine as a three-dollar bill.
The conversation died the second we stepped into their orbit.
Shunsuke's eyes, cold and assessing, flicked from my face to my hand on his daughter's waist. His smile didn't falter; it just solidified into something harder, more brittle.
