He slowed his pace without stopping. Moved to the shadow of the wall and followed it, keeping his footsteps on the grass, keeping his breathing even. Old habits. He closed the distance in silence and stopped just before the curve.
Three voices.
He recognized two of them.
Ava. Her voice low and steady in the way it got when she was working very hard to stay controlled. He'd learned that about her without meaning to — the specific quality her voice took on when she was holding something in.
Simon. Which meant Simon was outside, which meant the search had been more coordinated than he'd realized, which meant
And the third voice.
Varder went very still.
He knew that voice. He'd heard it exactly once, years ago, in a room he hadn't been supposed to be in, listening to a conversation between his father and a man who'd sat across a table with the particular stillness of someone who had nothing to prove to anyone in the room.
Jason Vayne.
