Faolan walked through the door, though she thought she noticed a slight hesitation. He looked at her. “This is a rich man. Be careful.”

Orfeus stepped forward, closing the door behind her. The robot rolled forward with a slight beep of complaint.

Faol walked into the house, fist up and ready. She planted her feet carefully, slow and unbelievably quiet.

Orfeus hurried in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Couldn’t we just go in and—” She vaguely mimed shooting a stun-gun. “From up in the air?”

She could hear it when he gritted his teeth. He stopped, and said briefly, “It is about fighting. An attack that can’t be defended against has no honour.” He shook his head. “We are fighters, not drones.”

He gave the robot a disgusted look as he said that, and Orfeus stepped in front of it protectively. Faolan looked at her, weighing her in his eyes.

“You need not fight,” he said, and turned, pacing on carefully. Orfeus stood and then clamped her mouth shut on any too-loud words of outrage. She crept after him, knife in hand.

“I’ll pay my debts,” she hissed at him as she caught up.

Faolan cast a glance around the room, then started up the staircase to the second storey, testing each step for creaks. “For the first time, just guard my back,” she said quietly. “That’s enough.”

Orfeus crept up the stairs, following in Faol’s footsteps. She mused over it. That would certainly be easier, which was a benefit. On the other hand, the Wolf normally worked alone. Likely he was just trying to find any excuse to act like she wasn’t there. “You know, you’re going to have to get used to having a partner.”

He darted a glance at her, eyes narrowed. “I could get used to any partner but you.”

Orfeus shifted her grip on her dagger and frowned.

“Stop talking,” Faolan added quietly, and turned, padding across the carpet. There was that conversation done, evidently.

In this environment, that made sense. Orfeus flipped her dagger moodily in her hand, caught it, followed.

They passed a few more robots, one vacuuming the carpet, another at rest in a docking cubicle. Orfeus wondered if this man did any of his own housework. Did he tend the vines, or were there robot workers? Humans generally had more precision when it came to problems that could afflict live crops.

Faolan’s shoulders tensed at some sign she didn’t see, and he prowled forward and pushed open a door. It looked to be a bedroom, a lavish four-poster bed offset by a carved wooden dressing table and paintings in bright smears of light.

The man inside the room turned around blinking. He put his wine glass on a table. “Hello?” he said, slow like an accusation. “I am Weingart. Why are you in my home?” His eyes flicked from Faol’s mask to hers, and went wide with fear.