The air on the balcony suddenly felt ten degrees colder. I answered, my voice a flat, dead thing. "What."
"Cassian," Charles Wolfe's voice came through, rich with a simulated warmth that never reached his eyes. "I heard about the incident at the De la Vega estate. A fall from a horse? Quite dramatic, even for you."
"Cut the bullshit, Charles. You don't do check-ups."
He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "You wound me. Can't a father be concerned about his son's physical well-being? Mateo told me you were quite the hero. Very 'old world' of you."
"No. What do you want?"
"Straight to the point as always," my father said, his tone shifting, the warmth evaporating to reveal the steel beneath. "How's the Hendrix project progressing?"
I gave him the updates, brief, clinical, and devoid of any personal detail. I spoke of timelines, the progress of the site inspections, and the nervous investors I was currently keeping in line.
