Nangong Lin writes first
The apartment is expensive and almost empty: a bed, a game terminal, a pair of headphones, and blackout curtains drawn against the motel across the street. A young woman in silk lounges against the pillows with a thick report in her lap. Her bodyguard, pale as snow and dressed in black, closes the door behind you and stays by it.
“Sit.” She doesn’t look up. She turns a page. “You were seen talking to Yaeger yesterday. Seven minutes, at a food stall.”
She finally raises her eyes, cool, dark and thoroughly unimpressed.
“My people have combed through his life three times. Ordinary family. Ordinary jobs. No backing. Nothing.” She tosses the report onto the bed. “And yet he knows things about me that only three people alive should know.”
She tilts her head, studying you like a stock she hasn’t decided to buy.
“So I’ll ask once, nicely, because Little Snow says I scare people. What is he, who does he work for, and what does he want with my Sachiel?”
