I didn’t have the time or the patience to play this nice. In seconds, I was out of my chair and on his side of the room. He flinched, as if I was about to strike him. Instead, I pushed a number of papers and trinkets out of the way and took a seat on the desk, planting one foot on the seat of his chair.

Needed to reset the stakes. Make him think this wasn’t really about the charms.

“You know,” I spoke idly, “I tend to come off as an asshole. Or so I’ve been told. As such, I’ve been making a not-insignificant effort to turn over a new leaf. Sort of an evergreen New Year’s resolution to be nicer. If that makes any sense.”

“Uh—” Daron started.

“But I find myself constantly placed in situations where being nice just doesn’t cut it.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Which makes that commitment complicated in situations like this.”

“I’ve been nothing but hospitable,” Daron blustered.

“With that?” I pointed to the contract-turned-paper plane. “That was an insult at best.”

“How?”

“Because you’ve been selling flight charms outside your district to the highest bidder.” I glared down at him furiously. “That affects the market, Daron. Even if you refuse to take part in it. Hell, especially if you refuse to take part in it.”

A bead of perspiration dripped down Daron’s forehead as he squinted, deep in thought. “Your vehicle sales—”

“Not just any vehicles,” I glowered. “The moneymakers. The not-Audi’s, the not-Lambos, the not-motherfucking-Ferraris. Nobody wants to impulse buy a luxury car when their bougie-ass friends are flying.”

Daron grew quiet, focused. His eyes flicked to the side, probably trying to pull his social UI and message for help.

I snapped my fingers in front of his face. “Hey. In case you didn’t notice? I left a small army of mercenaries outside. Currently, this is a negotiation. You call your guys and this escalates? It stops being a negotiation. Turns into something a lot less pleasant. That what you want?”

I could almost see him carefully closing the screen and turning back to me. “Sorry. I’m— I apologize. We had no intention of stepping on the Merchants’ Guild’s toes.”

“Apologies are cheap. Reparations aren’t.”

Daron’s mouth firmed. “Regardless of what you threaten me with, I cannot sell the flight charm on the open market. That is non-negotiable.”

He stared at me, unflinching, long enough for me to realize he was resolute. Which was fine. Daron was right that the exclusivity of the charm was where it drew most of its value. If he let Kinsley sell it, everyone who could afford the charm would buy it—at first. Then the downsides and limitation would trickle into the market discourse, and it would slowly fall out of interest.

I crossed my arms. “Then we’re at an impasse. Only, the place you’re in looks a lot more tenuous than where I’m standing.”

Daron chuckled nervously. “We’re both region leaders. In terms of power and authority, we are the same.”

“It’s like everyone’s already forgotten the Transposition,” I said. “8 and 9 are average regions at best. Not particularly wealthy. I’m guessing in your rush to lock down ‘powerful Friends,’ you haven’t given them the time of day, despite the fact that they’re your bordering neighbors. And of course, there’s Region 6 at your back. A convenient chasm for any large-scale attack to push you into. If the next event is even remotely similar, how do you think it’s going to play out?

Daron’s mouth worked in a silent stammer before he finally found a voice. “Perhaps there’s an alternate course.”

“I’m listening.”

“As I said, it’s not feasible for me to sell the charms on the market. But… what if we were to sell a predetermined number of flight charms to both your affiliated guilds, in return for an assurance of support during the next event? Provided, of course, at a significant discount—”

I shook my head and stuck my thumb up, slightly.

Daron frowned. “A small discount.”

I repeated the motion.

“At a slight up-charge?” Daron asked, cautiously hopeful.

I nodded slowly. “That would be a step in the right direction.”

As much as I didn’t like Daron, screwing an entire region out of profit from their only export was unnecessary.

Daron’s wide smile started to resurface. I produced a second magical contract, tailored to the terms we discussed, then pushed it over to him. After scanning the terms and finding that everything was as we’d discussed, Daron signed it on behalf of Region 7. Once he’d signed, the rotund man was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“You never wanted to sell the charms on the open market, did you?” Daron asked, disquiet in his voice as the realization dawned on him.

I scooped the contract out from in front of him, signing the corresponding field. “Does it matter? We’re both getting plenty out of this deal as it is.”

“I guess not.” Daron shrugged, shooting me one more suspicious glance before he finally relaxed in his chair.

This was partially why I’d encouraged him to increase his bulk price. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the hardware store, but he wasn’t stupid. Even if he realized I’d effectively forced the negotiation toward the outcome I’d intended from the beginning, he’d have the comfort of the money to fall back on.

“Now. About the clip-on angels upstairs.”

* * *

A long line of cars was deadlocked down the street. The waiting motorcade blocked a single lane of traffic, but it seemed as if rubbernecking was the one thing that hadn’t changed much. Someone honked and waved at me. I awkwardly waved back, feeling oddly exposed at the attention.

One of the waiting mercenaries popped the door open for me.

“Productive meeting, sir?” Ire asked. The several mercenaries Kinsley assigned me all went by call signs. He had a head and a half on me and was all muscle and tough, sunbaked skin. Overall, the man looked hard as nails, save for the pink chewing gum bubble he incessantly inflated. It never seemed to pop—the bubble. Just slowly deflated and receded into his goateed mouth.

“Just Matt, please.”

“You got it, Just Matt.” Ire grinned.

I settled in the back seat, feeling entirely out of my element as Ire popped the door and leapt into the passenger side.

Being chauffeured around felt strange and unnecessary. Even if it was for my protection.

“Where to?” my driver asked. He was a humorless-looking man who looked like he’d have difficulty eating, considering the mustache.

With a minor adjustment, I looped my seatbelt over my shoulder and laid down. “Dunno. Need to report to the Adventurers’ Guild in the late afternoon. Other than that, we have time to kill. You guys gotta be hungry by now, right?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the men exchange a glance in the front seat.

“We’ve got calories to spare,” Grit—the driver—said. Ire harrumphed and gave him a long-suffering stare. Grit ignored him. “Miss Kinsley was explicit that you were to get as much quality rest as possible.”

“You call her Miss Kinsley?”

“Never to her face.” Ire snorted.

The irreverence didn’t fool me. Kinsley had to be paying a fuckton for this level of loyalty from guys this seasoned.

“I’m resting. I’m comfortable.” I plastered over my eyes, blocking out any extraneous light, and indicated toward myself with the other hand.

“Don’t look very comfortable,” Grit observed.

I shifted in my seat, annoyed at the persistent twinging pain in my ribs. “I got shot last night. As far as comfort goes, this is as good as it gets. Seriously, I spent enough time in the apartment while I was wheelchair-bound. If you want to stop somewhere, just stop somewhere.”

“Pete,” Ire said.

“No,” Grit replied.

“Dude.”

“No.”

“It’s literally ten minutes from here.”

“In potentially hostile territory.”

“Someone want to fill me in?” I finally said, if only to stop the back and forth. They weren’t doing a good job keeping their voices low.

“Grit’s a grumpy asshole,” Ire said.

“Cautious asshole—asshole.”

“I knew that already,” I said. Grit took a corner at an angle that was probably sharper than necessary, and I grimaced as my head bumped into the side panel. “And generally, I prefer caution to the alternative. But what are we talking about?”

Someone sighed. Most likely Grit.

“Smokey Jon’s. First barbecue place to reopen in downtown. With the most glistening, succulent, hard-on inducing ribs you ever did see. System meat’s all the same, but the glaze and cooking process? That’s where the magic happens,” Ire told me.

Grit spoke up. “What Ire’s leaving out is that it’s in Region 5. Filled to the brim with countless suspicious motherfuckers who won’t stop talking about their fucking tower. Bad place to bring a VIP.”

I considered it. “Ribs really that good?”

“On my life,” Ire promised.

I weighed the potential risk. “I don’t think they’ll try anything. They’re going for a tourist vibe. So long as we stay clear of the dungeon, we should be safe. And I’ve wanted to get some reconnaissance in for a while anyway. Get a feel for the place.”

“Nothing good. That’s the feel. All kinds of wrong,” Grit insisted.

“You heard the man,” Ire grinned.

Grit came to a stop and pulled a U-turn.

“Wake me when we get there.” I pulled the neck of my hoodie over my face.

“Roger.”

I felt the tendrils of sleep slowly begin to encroach.

There was a chime in my ear. Tyler’s name and image appeared on my interface, indicating a voice call.

“This is Matt,” I said, not trying to hide the irritation in my voice. Someone chuckled up front.

“Matt,” Tyler said flatly, in a voice that didn’t sound pleased. “I understand you just met with Daron?”

“Yes. We’ve got the flight charms. It’s all copacetic.”

“It was supposed to be initial talks. Kinsley said she was mostly sending you for recreation,” Tyler said. Again, I didn’t understand why he sounded so irritated.

“There was an opportunity and I took it. What’s the problem?”

“I just got off a call with Daron. The man was weeping. He said you strong-armed him. If he reports this to the region council, there’s going to be an issue.” There was a clear accusation in Tyler’s voice. Couldn’t afford to brush this off.

“Did he also tell you about the underage girls in swimsuits, acting as post-flight massage attendants?” I shot back.

There was a long pause. “No, he did not.”

“For what it’s worth, he claimed he didn’t know and promised to clean it up.”

“You believe him?” Tyler asked.

I rolled my eyes and turned into the seat, shielding myself from the sun. “Do I believe Daron didn’t bother asking for ID and he’ll probably zip up his image after this? Sure. He doesn’t strike me as an always-does-his-homework type of guy. But, Tyler…”

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Tyler said. He still sounded angry, but not at me.

“I’m not the morality police. Nor am I looking to fuck with anyone’s hustle. Just like before the dome, probably more now, there’s plenty of desperate, of age people who need to make ends meet and are lacking resources. They need to do that by turning to alternate means? Not my business. Or anyone else’s.”

“They shouldn’t have to,” Tyler growled. “We should all be helping each other.”

“Maybe. But when’s that ever actually happened?”

Tyler hesitated. “I’m tempted to cancel the contract altogether. Give him back his charms and wash our hands of it.”

We hit a bump, and I grunted. “Your call. Want my opinion?”

“Shoot.”

My brow furrowed. “The question is management. There’s a world of difference between someone employing independent contractors and old-school pimping. If Daron’s just enabling and taking a nominal fee, or hell, even a house-cut, that’s to be expected. But if it’s more predatory—if he’s actively backing at-risk people into a corner and turning them out? That’s a whole other ball game.”

A female voice on the other side said something indecipherable, and I waited as Tyler uttered a hushed reply.

After a moment, he spoke. “We’re going to have to look into this. No way around it. And it’s unfortunate we’re already beholden to them.”

The seat my face was buried in smelled vaguely of smoke. “We’re covered. Daron was so rattled from the negotiation, he barely read over the contract. I snuck in a morality clause.”

“Thought you weren’t the morality police.”

“Only when it suits me. In short, we can sever our connection with Region 7 at any time for conduct unbecoming.”

“And keep the charms?”

“We paid for them. Of course, it’d be bad optics to renege on a technicality, unless there’s a very public scandal, but that can always be arranged.”

Tyler sighed. “Sometimes, Matt, our strategy discussions make me feel like I’m talking to the devil.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

“I was mainly calling to ask you to take it easy. It sounded like you were a little on edge. But giving the context, I can’t complain. Well done.”

“That’s what you’re paying me for.”

Tyler chuckled. “I don’t pay you.”

“Damn.”

“Look. In my opinion, you should be in bed recuperating. From what Miles said, even letting you outside is a risk right now. But since I know you won’t listen… do you want in on this? You brought it to my attention. I can set up a quest. Actually get you paid if you want to look into it yourself.”

I thought about it. The image of the dead-eyed sixteen-year-old up in the post-flight lounge, the way she’d looked at me. The ever-burgeoning list of responsibilities and time constraints I already had.

“No,” I finally said. “Call an audible if you need me. But there’s too much on my plate already.”

“Understood. Have a few people in mind, good at what they do. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Thanks.”

There was a beep as Tyler ended the call. It felt as if I’d barely closed my eyes before the SUV came to a stop.

“Welcome to Region 5,” Ire announced with glee, “home of the best damn barbecue this side of the yeehaw state.”