But it’s worse than that. “They were hollow when they were still in their hangars, Hail. Someone waved a dead body out the door.”

She shakes her head. “Someone waved a machine out the door—the body didn’t have much to do with it. This isn’t some one-in-a-mil malfunction. This is on purpose.”

My pudding is cold, and I shove it to the side. I try my luck with the coffee instead, and the gentle warmth still lingering at the bottom of the cup. “The beacon—” I falter, try to pick it up again. “Whoever launched the beacon was trying to get away from the hollows.”

She nods. “Seems that way to me.”

“Someone inside the Sigurd-Lem Corporation was trying to get out? Someone was running from hollows.” I swallow, try to hold the look in her eye. “Why are we here, Hail? Why aren’t we telling this to someone with a braid on their shoulder?”

“We’re keeping it quiet, for now. There’s every chance that this gets turned over to the Werewolves or spec-ops, and we never see it again.”

“And we aren’t letting the ’Wolves have it because…? They’re the ones who’re supposed to handle this kind of thing.”

“’Wolves work counterintelligence, first and foremost. Get the wrong one on the case, and they’ll waste their time tailing us, long before they get to solving the problem.”

“Some of us might deserve it,” I mutter.

Hail ignores the jab. “Even if they didn’t, odds are they’d be full-timers who don’t know what they’re doing or why it matters. Who haven’t lost anything.”

I set my elbows on the table. “Those hollows almost killed us.”

Hail leans in, her voice suddenly low. “They did. They killed one of us. Murdered a jockey, Rook. Right in front of us.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve lost someone, Hail.”

She rolls with the punches. “You think I haven’t? Hell, Rook, you’ve seen what it’s like out there.” But her gaze softens. “I—I’m sorry.”

“What for? You didn’t kill them.”

“I saw your file. I know what happened to your unit.”

I can’t quite bite my tongue. “Well, at least one of us does.”

Those eyes come closer. “They left you behind. Ignored your SOS.”

“The file say that?”

“No.” She watches me. “But I know what it looks like. I also know that they opened fire on your unit.”

“What’s a few more bodies in no-man’s-land?” I shrug. “We were in the way.”

“There’s a difference between danger: close and friendly fire. Someone should’ve swung for what happened.”

“Someone did,” I growl.

Maybe it’s the tone, maybe it’s something in my eyes, but it sets her off. “You were still alive down there, and they knew it. They traded you for a few fucking kilometres—”

“Hail,” I whisper.