This time, Tristan keeps still. It’s my turn to react, despite my training. Egan doesn’t miss my eyes widen or my cheeks flush. His deputies, Melody especially, have the audacity to smirk among themselves.

Your people. The Scarlet Guard. He’s met us before.

“I’m not the first, then.”

Another manic grin. “Not by a long shot. We’ve been running goods for yours since . . .” He glances at Melody, pausing for effect. “Two years ago, was it?”

“September 300, Boss,” she replies.

“Ah, yes. I take it you don’t know anything about that, Sheep.”

I fight the urge to grit my teeth and growl. Discretion, the orders said. I doubt tossing one up-jumped criminal from his decaying tower is considered discreet. “It’s not our way.” And that’s the only explanation I offer. Because while Egan thinks himself above me, far more informed than I am, he’s wrong. He has no idea what we are, what we’ve done, and how much more we plan to do. He can’t even fathom it.

“Well, your comrades pay well, that’s for certain.” He jingles a bracelet, nicely crafted silver, braided like rope. “I expect you’ll do the same.”

“If you do what’s asked, yes.”

“Then I’ll do what’s asked.”

One nod at Tristan sets his wheels spinning. He tromps to my side in two long steps, so fast and gangly Egan laughs.

“Stars, you’re a twiggy one,” Egan says. “What do they call you? Beanpole?”

A corner of my mouth twitches, but I don’t smile. For Tristan’s sake. No matter how much he eats or trains, he can’t seem to gain any sort of muscle. Not that it makes much difference where he’s concerned. Tristan is a gunman, a sniper, not a brawler. He’s most valuable a hundred yards away with a good rifle. I won’t mention to Egan that his code name is Bones.

“We require overview and introduction to the so-called Whistle network,” Tristan says, making my demands for me. Another tactic of the Colonel’s that I’ve adopted. “We’re looking for viable contacts in these key areas.”

He passes over a marked map, plain but for the red dots on important cities and crossroads throughout the country. I know it without looking. The industrial slums of Gray Town and New Town; the capital, Archeon; Delphie; the military city Corvium; and many smaller towns and villages in between. Egan doesn’t glance at the paper, but nods all the same, a picture of confidence.

“Anything else?” he gravels out.

Tristan glances my way, giving me one last chance to refuse this final order from Command. But I won’t.

“We will require use of your smuggling network soon.”

“Easy enough. With the Whistles, the whole country’s open to you. You can send lightbulbs from here to Corvium and back if you want.”

I can’t help but smile, showing my teeth.

But Egan’s grin fades a little. He knows there’s more. “What’s the cargo?”

With quick hands, I drop a tiny bag of tetrarch coins at his feet. All silver. Enough to convince him.