Darian slouched deeper into the chair, one ankle hooked over his knee, fingers drumming a restless pattern against the armrest.
The wall-sized screen in front of him fractured into a dozen split views, hallways, stairwells, service entrances. Every inch of the hotel pinned under his gaze.
He only watched one feed. Small. Blurred slightly by distance. But enough.
Eris.
He recognized that look even from here. Half-focused, half-wary. Like a bird pretending not to notice the hawk overhead.
A flick of his fingers dragged her image into the center. Closer.
The sharp clack of heels against marble cut through the hum of machinery. A second later, the scent hit him, citrus sliced through with burnt vanilla. Violette.
"If you stare any harder, Mr. Gravelle," her voice teased, all sugar and hidden blades, "she might actually feel it."
He didn't move. Only his eyes shifted, a slow, deliberate drag toward the woman leaning against the edge of the table.
Violette, sleek in black, her mouth glossy and wicked, pointed a crimson-tipped nail at the screen. "That kid's a ticking bomb. Five minutes, tops, before she blows."
Darian exhaled, soft enough not to count. "If she blows," he said, voice flat, "she fails."
"And if she doesn't?" Violette turned, her smile a little too knowing.
He didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
His gaze snapped back to Eris, fingers skimming pages, lips moving in silent counts.
She wasn't just smart. He knew that already. It was the way she thought, sharp, fast, dangerous in the way a blade is dangerous when it stops trying to look clean.
Something stirred under his ribs. Not admiration. Not sympathy. Something worse.
The folder Violette tossed barely made a sound before he caught it one-handed.
"If I had to guess," she drawled, "she's building some half-assed theory right now. And in three... two... one… "
Eris froze on screen. Turned. Expression cracked, frustration first, then calculation.
Violette snickered.
"Boom."
Darian leaned his head back against the chair, lazy, almost bored. But his eyes didn't leave Eris. "She's learning," he murmured, mostly to himself.
"Or just playing smart," Violette countered, folding her arms. The shrug that followed was careless. But the edge in her tone wasn't.
Darian didn't bother arguing. He knew how cleverness got most people killed, tripping over their own damn pride before the enemy even showed up.
But Eris... she wasn't just clever.
Instinct. And instinct, when it survived long enough, became something far more lethal than intelligence ever could.
"If she's smart enough," he said quietly, "she'll start wondering why everything feels wrong."
"And if she's stupid," Violette chimed in, "she'll step right into the trap before she figures it out."
His fingers stilled over the console. He dragged the feed wider, watched as Eris stood stiff in the dead center of the suite, sensing, maybe, how unnatural it all felt.
He tilted his head, studying her through the glass. "She's not stupid," he said. Too soft to be casual. Too certain to be safe.
Violette let out a long breath. The sound of surrender. She looked at him sideways, something sly curling at the corners of her mouth.
"If you keep looking at her like that," she said lazily, "you're gonna be the one getting trapped, boss."
Darian smiled, a thin, mechanical stretch of his mouth that didn't bother pretending.
"Too late."
Violette snapped her fingers toward the screen, shattering the silence.
"Took her fifteen minutes to realize the dead girl didn't walk in alone," she said, rolling her eyes in exaggerated boredom.
Darian didn't move. His gaze slid to the new footage Violette had pulled up, an elevator feed, grainy under sterile neon light.
The victim stood alone, head down, movements sluggish. The cold lighting turned her skin a sickly shade of gray. Normal, if you weren't trained to look deeper.
In the faint reflection along the elevator doors, a ghost. A shadow. Someone. Or something.
Darian straightened, barely, senses sharpening like a blade drawn across a whetstone.
On screen, Eris frowned. Rewound. Slowed the footage. Adjusted the light.
Violette watched from the corner of her eye, one brow lifting. "Not bad," she muttered, half mocking, half impressed. "For a rookie."
Darian touched the edge of his mouth, a breath of a smile. Not for Eris. Not for the small victory.
For Violette. For the reminder that, in the end, they both measured people by the same brutal scale, and almost everyone failed.
"I expected you to be more cynical," he said quietly.
"I am," Violette shot back, folding her arms tight across her chest, crimson nails tapping against her own skin. "I'm just not blind. Sometimes even a donkey wins a race."
Darian exhaled, soft enough it barely stirred the air. Arguing with Violette was like playing chess with a live grenade. You didn't win. You just survived.
He glanced at her, sharp jawline, polished hair, those hollow, cutting eyes. Strength wrapped in control, unless she chose to burn you with it.
Like him.
But not like him.
"If she sees it," Violette nodded at the screen, "what's her next move?"
Darian drummed two fingers against the armrest, a slow, deliberate rhythm.
"She has to decide," he murmured, "whether to trust what she sees... or question why she didn't see it sooner."
Violette stared at him. Then gave a low, bitter laugh. "You expect too much from people, Gravelle."
He didn't answer. He knew she was right, people preferred comfort over truth every damn time.
But something about the way Eris hovered there, locked in thought, scribbling invisible notes into her mind… Made him wager.
Not wildly. Not recklessly. But a wager, all the same. For the first time in a long time.
Violette stepped closer. Too close for 'professional.' Darian stayed still. No reason to move.
"You only like her because she doesn't know what you really are yet," Violette said, voice low, coiled tight.
Darian lifted his eyes. Once. Sharp enough to cut. Violette's smile was feral, something wild that smelled blood.
"And that," she said, tapping his shoulder lightly, like a slap dressed up as affection, "always ends badly."
Her heels clicked away, citrus-vanilla perfume ghosting behind her.
Darian turned back to the screen.
Eris slowed the footage again, frown deepening, fingertip brushing the glass like she could reach inside and drag the truth into the open.
For a moment, he let himself think: If you're really that smart… Let's see how long you can survive here.
His eyes narrowed.
Let's see, Eris Moreau.
"Wanna bet?" Violette's voice sliced through the room, light, sharp, like silk wrapped around a blade.
Darian didn't answer right away. Onscreen, Eris kept working, trying to carve something out of the elevator footage. Her back was tight, but her movements stayed sharp. Focused. Hungry.
"What kind of bet," he said finally, voice dragging slow, almost lazy. His eyes never left the screen.
Violette moved closer, too casual to be professional, too bold to be ignored. She leaned against the side of his chair, like the whole world had shrunk to just the two of them.
"She's gonna fail," she said with a sly little grin. "Smart, sure. I'll give her that. But smart's not enough to survive with people like us."
Darian shifted his gaze. A small move. Heavy enough to crush lesser things. Violette just shrugged, lazy, defiant.
"She might fail," he said after a beat, voice cool enough to frost glass. "But she's not stupid."
"Oh, please." Violette let out a breathy laugh and bumped her hip against the table, turning to face him. "You're only saying that because you're a little... invested."
His brow twitched. Barely.
Invested. The word sat wrong. Crude. Dangerous.
He looked back to the screen. Eris tapped her finger against her lips, face half-furrowed, half-lit with furious excitement.
Invested. Maybe. A little.
Violette tilted her head, reading him too easily. "You know she's not for you, right?" she said, almost sweet. Almost.
Darian flexed his fingers against the armrest. A controlled, minimal movement. "I don't want her," he said, flat.
Violette laughed again, low and bitter, more blade than sound.
"Of course you don't," she murmured. "You don't want anything... until you want it too much to let it go."
On the screen, Eris dropped a pen. Bent to pick it up. Nothing important. Nothing that should matter.
But Darian's gaze snagged a moment longer than necessary.
Violette noticed.
Smiled.
The slow, knowing kind of smile that said: I caught you. "So?" she pushed. "The bet?" Darian exhaled, quiet, controlled.
"Fine," he said.
Violette offered her hand like the bet meant more than just words. Her touch brushed his skin, cool and deliberate.
Darian let it happen. Not because he wanted to. Because he allowed it. There was a difference.
"If she fails," Violette whispered, voice sinking low, velvet over venom, "you owe me dinner. A proper one. No meetings. No offices. You know how I hate eating at work."
He almost smiled. Almost. Stupid move. "And if she doesn't?" he asked, voice dry as dust. Violette's grin widened, bright, razor-edged.
"Then I'll pay you back... with something you actually want." Light words. Poison wrapped in promise.
Darian stayed still. He knew her kind of games. And even he… wasn't sure he could afford the price sometimes.
Onscreen, Eris rubbed her face, exhaled hard, then suddenly moved, scribbling down something with a kind of fierce, messy energy.
Darian watched her, cold, sharp.
The game had started. And for the first time in a long time... he wasn't sure he wanted to win.
In the stretched silence, Violette glanced at her watch. Her nose wrinkled, small, almost endearing, if it hadn't come from someone so lethal.
"Shit," she muttered. "It's already lunchtime."
Darian didn't react. Time meant nothing unless it served a purpose.
Violette hovered a beat too long, then shot him a lazy, sugar-coated look that wasn't meant to be swallowed whole.
"Not asking you out," she said lightly, "but I haven't made Laurent's coffee yet."
She pushed off the desk, half-turned, casual in the way predators sometimes played with their food.
"I should head back," she added, like she needed permission.
He didn't give it.
"No." One word. Flat. Cold. Absolute.
Violette stilled. Her head tilted back toward him, slow, theatrical. "What?" A thin edge of amusement in her voice, half-laugh, half-threat.
Darian stared at her. Unmoving. Numb. "Stay," he said. "You're still useful here."
Her brows lifted high, mocking, but there was something sharp buried underneath.
"Wow." She sauntered closer, one hand cocked at her hip, a sly curve pulling at her mouth. "Since when does Darian Gravelle need anyone?"
He didn't blink.
Need. Disgusting word. Soft, too full of hands reaching for things better left untouched. But truth had a habit of bleeding through even the tightest seams.
He needed her.
Here. Now.
Needed another set of eyes. Needed a witness. Needed something, anything, to keep him from looking too long at the wrong things.
Violette knew it. She strummed it like a violin. "Laurent can make his own damn coffee," Darian said, the words coming out sharper than intended.
Violette laughed, a low, amused sound, curling through the air like smoke, dangerous where it shouldn't be.
"Now this," she purred, "is interesting. Darian Gravelle, begging."
He wasn't begging. He was commanding. But he didn't deny it. And that was worse.
Darian leaned back slightly in his chair. Small shift. Measured. Relinquishing nothing, but tightening his hold all the same.
"Enough," he said.
Violette studied him. Too long. Long enough to peel skin from bone. Then she smiled.
Dropped back into her chair with boneless ease, a queen settling into a throne she'd stolen without asking.
"All right, boss," she said sweetly, poisoned honey slipping off her tongue. "I'll stay." A small win. A bigger loss.
Darian turned back to the screen.
Eris was still there, frowning at the mess she was trying to untangle, eyes burning with fierce, reckless light.
Another piece on the board. Another piece he wasn't sure he could walk away from when the time came.
The elevator feed shifted across the monitor, grainy footage flickering like a half-forgotten memory. Eris tapped the edge of her clipboard, fingers sharp, restless. Eyes scanning, calculating, carving paths through the noise.
Darian let her.
He wanted to see how deep she could dig before the ground gave out.
Beside him, Violette leaned an elbow onto the desk, closer than necessary. Her sleeve brushed his arm. Deliberate.
"You serious about that bet?" she asked, voice too casual to mean nothing. He didn't look at her. "I don't joke." Flat. Bone-dry.
Violette laughed, low, rough. A sound you felt on skin before you heard it in the air.
She tapped the screen with a single nail, the reflection of Eris warping under her touch. Almost like she was teasing Darian through it.
"So," she drawled, "this just a drill? Or something else?"
Silence. Not empty. Measuring. Violette tilted her head, dark hair sliding over one shoulder, messy and perfect.
"Because," she continued, voice dropping half an octave, "there's rumors. That this simulation... was based on last year's mess."
Still, he didn't speak. The air thickened. Violette smiled, patient the way only a predator could be.
"You know. The murder case. The hotel. And, unfortunately, Vanguard's name getting dragged through the dirt."
Dirt.
The word scraped across the surface of Darian's calm like a razor. Not deep. But it cut.
"I remember," he said at last. Too quiet.
Violette let out a small snort. "I'm sure you do," she murmured. "Especially who had to clean it up."
Him. Darian. He didn't confirm. Didn't need to. Truth rotted sweet between them.
On the monitor, Eris slowed the elevator footage. Zoomed in on the glass reflection.
A shadow. Barely there. But there.
A muscle locked under Darian's skin, half a second, maybe less. Only someone like Violette would notice.
And she did. Of course, she did. But she said nothing. Just breathed in, short and sharp, like catching the scent of an incoming storm.
"If she fails," Violette said, voice soft now, "what are you going to do?"
He didn't answer. Too many outcomes. Too many landmines. She didn't need a reply. Just smiled and sank back into her chair, dripping false ease.
On the screen, Eris hesitated, then scribbled something onto her clipboard.
Darian watched her.
And something cold, something honed too long against stone and steel, flickered deep inside him. Sharp as an old blade.
He knew. One way or another… That girl was going to drag them all under. And maybe… he was going to let her.