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roof.
    Vyn frowned. He was creating a mirage of his backseat, probably one empty of a stinking Fomorian. “Isn’t light-bending illegal?”
    “Strap in, I drive fast.”
    A low rumble was followed by the groan of a door lifting and sliding over the roof of the garage. The landing wheel mechanism gave a long whine and a clunk as it hit the underside of the chassis. Paul’s fingers flexed around the wheel, and he reversed into another alley.
    They glided out, sharp beams of the vehicle cutting over the milling people, the heavy smoke and flames erupting from her building. Vyn’s hands gripped the warmed leather of the seat as a security captain waved his baton, ordering them to stop. Paul obeyed. The curved window flashed his credentials and his clearance.

    Vyn blinked. Paul Cross was very senior indeed. What was he up to? Her suspicious nature kicked in. He’d waited seven years to retrieve his brother? Seven. That seemed unlikely. Her mouth thinned. A CEO was often betrayed by those closest to him. Was she suddenly involved in a hatchet man’s bid for power?
    The security captain bent to peer through the window into the dimly lit interior. “You’re a long way from home, sir.”
    Through the processor built into the frame of the vehicle, Vyn recognised his voice. He’d stood in her blitzed flat and declared all Fomorians pigs.
    “Overseeing your work here.” Paul stared ahead to the blazing building, the fire engines screaming up—all noise and lights—to tackle the fire. “Did you get the Fomorian?”
    “No sir, we believe she had a tip-off. You know their network.”
    Paul’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “Find her. Our CEO was very specific in who he wanted this time.”
    The captain stood back and saluted. “Understood, sir.”
    Paul nodded and kicked the engine into gear, lifting it over the crowds, over the fire fighters, and turning them north. “That should keep him busy,” he murmured.
    “What are you really after?” Vyn sat forward, the fabric straps of her harness biting into her shoulders. Ahead of them, S-District spread out, a tangled mess of yellow-lit roads and ramshackle buildings. “Why did Goodman specify me?”
    “Your glamour is popular. Popularity gets you noticed.”
    “That doesn’t answer anything.” She gripped the passenger seat, the partition film stinging her knuckles. She winced and flexed her fingers free. “And what do you want from me?”
    He banked to the left, taking them towards the bright lights and luxurious mansions of the elite. Ahead was the hill where the Corporation head office stabbed into the air, a blade of glass, steel and glittering white light.
    Paul dropped lower, skimming the roads that fed into the checkpoints. Only security broke the unofficial curfew of full dark, and only they had the firepower to survive the skank gangs.
    The streets were empty, the tarmac glistening from recent freezing rain. He swept towards the line of booths with their glaring red lights, breaking up the high wire fencings that demarcated the line between the Corporation elite and the skanks.
    He landed and pressed his hand to the curve of the window. His information broke away in quick bursts of pale blue light. A guard pushed open the booth door, lifting his coat collar against the cold. Slow strides brought him to the side of the vehicle.
    “Mr. Cross.” His synthesised voice filled the interior and Vyn winced. Flunky on a power trip.
    “Officer.” Paul relaxed back in his padded seat and eased his hand free from the window. His streams of information faded away. “Corporation business.”
    “Everything is Corporation business.”
    Paul let out a soft huff of air and released his safety belts. The door opened and freezing air swept around the interior of the vehicle. Vyn shivered, watching Paul climb out. He slammed the door shut with a low thunk.

    Vyn wiped her hands over her face and focused on her breathing for a few slow seconds. She strained