“And I’m Hawk,” the bearded man says, and wipes some beer foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. “Good at most things, better at some.”

Hawk…, I think, and immediately start analyzing his name. Hawks have fierce reputations and great sight. But unlike other Strategia, Hawk isn’t a name that has an ancient origin, making me wonder if it’s a chosen name rather than a given one. And to that point, all of Hawk’s crew’s names end with a uniform E sound, giving very little away about where they might be from; but maybe that’s the point? Maybe they’re all chosen names? They’re using British accents, but I know that doesn’t mean anything.

“I hear you’re flexible,” Ash says, and I look at him, wondering if he heard that at the Raven’s Nest, or if he’s just testing Hawk. Which begs the question—what kind of flexible does he want Hawk to be?

What’s interesting is that Ash didn’t tell Hawk our names, real or made up, after that lengthy introduction. And if Ash’s cutting to the chase like that, then he wants out of here as fast as possible. I imagine I feel eyes boring into the back of my head and resist the urge to look over my shoulder at the room.

Hawk laughs, giving nothing away. “I do like when a negotiation starts out that way. Means I can charge a hell of a lot more.” I look at his crew members to see if I can glean anything, but in typical Strategia fashion, they’re impossible to read.

The kid with the apron returns and places two glasses in front of me and Ash, two pitchers of beer in the center of the table, and a basket of piping hot French fries in front of Hawk. Just the smell of alcohol makes my head pound in phantom pain.

“Salud,” Mary says in an authoritative tone that feels contradictory to the sentiment. She lifts her beer mug.

We all follow suit and I manage a small sip of the bitter liquid before returning it to the table. Subtle glances from the tables next to us seem to carry an undercurrent of hostility. It’s obvious that we’re out of place here, and I’m getting the impression that there are at least a few people in the room who don’t appreciate our presence.

“Everyone in town seems to be on the same hunt,” Ash says with no fanfare, and I nearly choke. “But we’re less interested in the hunted than we are in the hunters.”

I look from Ash to Hawk and back again. Oh god, is he outright admitting that we’re prying into Lion secrets?