Not many people knew what Wade really did for his job. Honestly, most people didn't even understand what he did for his much more public-facing, cover-story job.

  Amongst all that ck of knowledge, one particur thing that people failed to think about was that he interacted with a great many fit, empowered, confident women about to violently confront their mortality. If you thought the Olympic Vilges of yonder years had been a hook-up center, then you should see a Blightbane camp prepping for a major incursion.

  Additionally, because of Wade's (rgely unknown) senior position in an organization that had been purchased and absorbed by the government, he had sat through a huge amount of informational security training. He had been drilled from the start to think that anyone who was interested in him and asked about his work was a possible security risk.

  Which is all to say that a pretty face meant very little to him. If anything, he thought of it as a bad sign. Pretty people seemed to think they could get away with murder.

  Shilloh was filed under 'pretty face but at least no impractical clothes.' That was alongside a couple other observations mostly centered around her firearm and positioning himself so he and Jasque could both shoot her without suffering friendly fire.

  That was all very normal of him. Then, she broke that mold in record time.

  "Holy fucking shit fuck," she said, putting her hands on her hips and shoulders swaying back, crotch forward like a middle-aged man tending a barbecue, "what do you use that gun for? Large dinosaurs and small buildings?"

  Something about that was so incongruous that it woke him up. Half of his mind had been thinking about tonight's activities: getting his ass kicked by Jasque, ice the bumps and lumps, and setting his Mark in the forest. Then he would come home te, sleep until his magic was recovered, and decide the minimal amount of Bane work needed to maintain his cover.

  This wasn't just another day zoning out through a housewife's hysterical fear. But she wrenched him from his familiar routine and into the present.

  He became acutely aware that the dead beaver monster smelled like a butcher's garbage disposal, and its gnds were leaking fluid that would stain this back ally for days. Jasque was smiling. But that meant nothing. Wade could rarely tell when they were real.

  Then there was Shilloh.

  She was a small little thing. But not weak. Pale skin dotted with the tiny scrapes and bruises that spoke of a well-lived life. She was wearing jeans that were loose enough to move in but not nearly so loose as to hide her body. Underneath a long-sleeved rugby shirt, he saw a slender waist that fred into full curves and an ass that he, as a respectable and professional member of an esteemed organization, should not be noticing. He also shouldn't notice the gorgeous cast of her face. She had high cheekbones, hazel eyes that were angled just enough to give her fair skin, and dark hair an elvish cast.

  Dimples made her seem young and approachable, but her lips made him second-guess that impression. The smell of the forest, ink, gun oil, subtle herby soap, and human woman brought all of her together into a fascinating puzzle.

  His mouth moved as he definitely did not ogle her.

  "Yes, ma'am. You've caught me. I'm the Bane who specializes in carnivorous grocery stores, though I also handle overhead bridges and other civic infrastructure."

  She didn't get pissy and snappish at his sarcasm. She just quirked an impish grin at him and rolled with the joke before re-introducing herself in a more normal way. It was refreshing, and lord knew he could empathize with a ck of social graces. She at least had the excuse of a day spent trekking. He just wasn't meant to be the charming or social one. He was the hard-working one who had to keep a low profile.

  The fact that he got to pet a goddam lynx was also enough to leave him thoroughly charmed. Which, in turn, made him thoroughly distrustful. Someone who could charm him in all of three minutes might be a pnt.

  It was crushing when his paranoia proved correct.

  She mentioned something ciming territory, something deep in the Croatan. He and Jasque shared a look but otherwise refused to react to the information she was fishing for.

  ~~~

  Shilloh walked away from the negotiation, so annoyed that she had gone red. Wade kept his eyes on the ground as she left. He wanted to look, but Jasque watched everything and saw everything.

  "People don't do jobs for free, Wade," his bodyguard said, voice ft and eyes flinty.

  "Fifty percent isn't free. And I ended up haggling."

  "It's fucking dumb. Dumb enough that even more people would want to work with you and take advantage of your poor sense."

  Ahh. That was the problem. With more people working with him, there was less time for meaningful work and more attention on his cover.

  He lowered his head, "I'm sorry, Jasque."

  His bodyguard and personal watcher turned to look at him. Jasque dissected him with his eyes before deigning to respond, "I believe you. We need to keep her close."

  "I know."

  "We'll confirm if she can sense the Mark on your truck and gear as a first test of sensitivity."

  He nodded.

  "Confirm how to hide the program's progress from her over a few days' iterations."

  He nodded.

  "And check in with the home office to see how amenable she is to a disappearing."

  Wade froze for a second, then he made himself nod.

  But Jasque watched everything, saw everything.

  "Wade, we're not assassins. The home office will probably just offer her a job a couple towns over. Maybe another state if she shows promise."

  'Promise' being code for all sorts of dangerous traits. Traits like, perceptivity, sensitivity to lies, and an unhealthy dedication to disseminating truth. He nodded, and Jasque once again stared at him. It was awkward and rude, and the Syer cared not at all.

  Finally, the other man sighed and csped Wade's shoulder, "I know. She seems like a good sort. She saw cryptos, is doing the right thing, and has a real set of balls on her. But you know what comes first."

  Wade did. Neither said it aloud nor in public, but both heard the old, familiar words intoned in their minds.

  'First comes mask and mission.'

  "Come on," the grey-eyed Were finally said. He tried to let go of all the feelings that had started making a mess inside his well-organized mind. "Let's get in contact with the home office. See what she's about."

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