The drive home was silent.
Alphonse's hand never left the small of Karma's back as they left the ballroom, his touch deceptively gentle. Yet there was nothing soft in his posture—his shoulders were rigid, his gaze hard through the tinted windows of the limousine. Karma leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, head throbbing.
"You're quiet," he said finally.
"You're brooding," she replied without opening her eyes.
"I'm calculating."
"Same thing."
The limousine turned into the dark, empty streets, the city's neon lights blurring across the window. Karma opened her eyes, watching their reflection ripple across the tinted glass. Her reflection looked pale. Unsteady.
"You weren't just angry," she said. "You were worried."
Alphonse didn't respond at first. Then, "Ryan isn't like others. He doesn't waste time on posturing unless he smells something rotten."
"Like?"
"Power unguarded. Weakness. Secrets."
