Snakes in the Grass
"My identity hasn't been exposed, right?"
Evan's voice was low and sharp, like a blade pressed against the throat.
He stood alone in the dim restroom, one hand braced against the marble sink, staring at his reflection. The fluorescent light above flickered faintly, casting pale shadows across his face. His jaw was tight. There was no panic in him—only calculation.
On the other end of the call, his subordinate answered without hesitation, "No, Obsidian King's identity is absolutely confidential!"
"Absolutely?" Evan pressed, his tone dipping colder. "I don't want reassurance. I want certainty."
There was a brief pause, the faint sound of papers shifting. "Our firewalls held. The transfer trails were scrubbed. No one traced the chain back to you. Not the regulators. Not the four households. And certainly not Julian."
Evan's breathing steadied.
