“I’m Mason’s cousin,” he said, and the drunk room spun into daylight clarity. “What?” I dropped my voice on purpose and let the word hang between us. The bar noise folded around his answer like it was nothing. “I said I’m Mason Collier’s cousin.” He looked at me without a flicker of amusement. He was wearing a dark coat that could hide a scalpel. He had the kind of face you didn’t notice until he said something that made you sit up straighter. My laugh came out sharp. “Of course you are. Of course you are.” I leaned forward. “Do you know him well?” “Yes.” He said it flat. “We share a bloodline and a bad opinion of ambition.” “That’s honest.” I ran my fingers along the rim of my glass. My voice was lighter than I felt. “Funny thing. He just gave me his last honest opinion.” I tipped the glass, and the bourbon answered. A bartender glanced our way. A man two stools over pretended not to listen and did listen. The place smelled like sweat and cheap perfume and other people’s mistakes. Rain hissed against the glass wall outside. It made the city look like a smear of lights. “You’re not here for information,” Lucas said. “You’re here so you can say you were seen.” “You’re good at reading rooms.” I didn’t correct his name. I wanted him to keep thinking what he wanted. “So tell