She used the free two minutes to go over data he’d sent her telepathically after their meeting.

Yet even as she did so, she found herself thinking of the wrapper she’d hidden in the book, the food he’d given her. Her fingers wanted to curl into her palm, her pulse suddenly an echoing drum.

Her father finally deigned to look at her, his eyes that pale amber-brown. “Are you here for your medication?”

Years of training meant her tone was even when she said, “Yes, Father.” He made her go through this routine every single time—every seven days since he’d made her CEO, when, prior to that, the dosage had been calibrated to last three months. A constant reminder that she could never act against him without putting her life at critical risk.

“It’s over there.”

She moved to the small table set up against the dark red-brown of the far wall; the color made the room even more claustrophobic for Payal. The familiar injector lay on a sterile tray along with an alcohol swab and the vial of vivid green medication.

Slotting the vial into the injector, she then swabbed the side of her neck, though that step wasn’t strictly necessary. It took but a second to punch the medication into her system. The pain was minor at most; she didn’t even notice it after so many years.

As a teleporter, she could switch out vials with ease and had done so more than once. But the scientists she’d hired had never been able to reverse engineer the drug her father had sourced from a now-dead chemist. She was ninety-nine percent certain he’d killed the chemist to ensure that Payal could never break free.

Lalit came by his psychopathy honestly; Pranath was just better at playing the role demanded by society.

“Better?” he said as she placed the injector back on the table.

“Yes.” The headache that had been building behind her eyes would soon calm, the medicine’s effects rapid; and for seven more days, the tumors in her brain would grow no bigger. “Did you want to discuss any other matters?”

He’d returned his attention to his organizer, but he said, “You were away from your office for a long period today.”

A sinuous reminder of just how many loyal spies he had in the Rao organization.

“Meeting with one of the Mercants.” Payal had always been a bad liar, but at times, the truth was a better mask than anyone expected—especially when used with surgical precision.

Pranath was suddenly not in the least interested in whatever was on his organizer. “The Mercants haven’t worked with our family for five generations.”

Payal knew that. After being knocked back on a proposed venture that would’ve brought profit to both parties, she’d made it a point to find out why. It was because a Rao ancestor had betrayed the Mercants after they’d come to an agreement. Canto’s family did not forgive.

Yet he expected her to trust him.

Because it was anchor business.

Because it was between 3K and 7J, not Rao and Mercant.

Her stomach squeezed into a tight ball.

“I don’t know if they will now, either.” Slipping her hands into her pockets, she kept her body relaxed even as her pulse drummed. “It was a preliminary meeting with nothing of relevance on the agenda.” All true as far as it came to Pranath’s interests.

But her father was no longer looking at her, his attention caught by the idea of an alliance with the Mercant clan. On the face of it, Rao was bigger and held more power, but everyone knew the Mercants preferred to stay out of the limelight—and had more tentacles than any of the mythical beasts created by various cultures.

“All we need is an entry point,” Pranath mused. “Word is what one Mercant knows, they all do. So we just need one person and we can crack their hermetic seal of useless loyalty.”

So quickly, his thoughts went to betrayal.

“I’ve kept the door open.” Payal always had difficulty breathing in this room, but she’d long ago learned to hide what she knew was a psychosomatic reaction. “I’d suggest you not attempt to track me while I’m with my contact. Mercants are … touchy.” Her father couldn’t actually follow her the vast majority of the time, since she could ’port wherever she wished, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t attempt other methods of surveillance.

“Understood.” It sounded sincere. “Keep me informed. I want to know the instant this looks like it might go somewhere.”

“I will.” She began to head to the door.

“Payal.”

“Sir?” She made sure to meet his gaze.

“Your brother has brokered several major deals of late, and he’s increasingly building connections that will assist the family in the future. A Mercant link would be advantageous for you.”

After inclining her head in a silent response, Payal exited. She didn’t permit herself to think about what he’d said until she was behind the locked doors to her apartment, a place she swept every morning and night for spyware and that had a number of electronic tripwires designed to alert her to unauthorized access.

Her father wasn’t a stupid man. She couldn’t risk him figuring out that his final arrow had hit home. She had even less time than she’d thought if he was beginning to threaten her with Lalit.

“You might have killed once, but you don’t have your brother’s ruthless instincts,” he’d said to her the year before. “You expect people to act with logic, to be rational in their behavior.”

He was wrong. She used to expect that, but her childhood had shown it to be a false data point—so she’d adapted. In time, she’d gathered enough information to realize that Psy under Silence made decisions for all kinds of reasons, many of them incomprehensible if you took only the rules of the Protocol into account.

Payal, too, didn’t always act in a way that fulfilled the tenets of pure rationality. Such as right then, when she reached out to Canto with her mind. He’d given her his telepathic “imprint,” for lack of a better word, when he’d sent her the expanded data. She couldn’t find that imprint in the telepathic space, which meant he was farther away than her Gradient 4.3 telepathy could reach.

It should’ve stopped her impulsive act, but she picked up her encrypted organizer and sent him a message: Initiate telepathic contact.

The connection snapped into place within seconds: Payal? Is there a problem? His voice was crystalline, so pure a sound that it was almost—but not quite—painful to her psychic ear.