Chapter 56 Landing in the Web
Sloane’s POV
London looked like a circuit board someone had left out in the rain.
From the window of the jet, the gray sprawl stretched in every direction, studded with glass towers where people made decisions about networks and borders and who was allowed to be safe. Somewhere down there sat a conference that wanted me as either exhibit or execution.
Eli sat across from me, broad shoulders hunched over a thick paper dossier. He flipped pages slowly, eyes scanning notes on summit security, floor plans, liaison names. The hum of the engines wrapped around us. His presence, calm and focused, was the only reason I was not currently clawing my way out of my own skin.
My father in the ground. The Lattice waiting. The fact that half of this city probably had my face bookmarked as either savior or lunatic.
“Landing in ten,” the pilot called back.
I snapped the shade up a bit higher and watched the runway rise to meet us. For a second I imagined what it would feel like to not go to this summit. To turn this plane around. To walk away.
Then the wheels hit tarmac and that fantasy fell off with the first jolt.
Customs, such as it applied to people with our level of paperwork and paranoia, went fast. Ward’s London team had already done their jobs.
Mila and Ash were waiting near a private exit. Mila looked exactly as she always did, no matter the country. Messy bun, black hoodie over a T shirt, eyes lit with eight hours of screen time.
Ash was new. To me, anyway. London based, lean, sharp cheekbones, accent that could cut glass. He gave me a once over that was professional, not leering, then nodded to Eli.
“Car is secure,” he said. “Route three. We swept the hotel and the first perimeter this morning. As far as we can tell, no one has wired your pillows yet.”
“High bar,” I muttered.
The hotel near the summit venue looked like money trying to pretend it had history. Old stone facade, ivy in all the right places, discreet brass sign. Inside, it was all marble and glass and the low hum of expensive conversations. Conference badges flashed at throats and lapels. Tech founders in black, defense contractors in navy, government liaisons in gray. Everyone polished. Everyone dangerous.
Check in was quick. Our cover identities might as well have been printed in neon.
“Ms Mercer,” the clerk said with a professional smile. “You are down as a Legacy Architect speaker.”
Legacy Architect. The title clawed at the inside of my ribs.
“Mr Ward, Chief Security Strategist,” she added, handing him his key.
Two suites. Adjacent. An interior door between them. On paper, separate. In reality, closer than either of us would probably admit was good for our self control.
In my suite, Eli did what Eli always did. Moved through space like a scanner. He checked vents, picture frames, the undersides of tables, the small leaf of the balcony door. Found only the usual hotel hardware. CCTV in the halls. A standard motion detector in the corner.
“No extra friends,” he said. “For now.”
For now did a lot of heavy lifting.
Jet lag coiled under my skin with grief and adrenaline. I wanted a shower, ten hours of sleep and a world without acronyms. Instead, Ward’s London liaison chose that moment to knock.
He was older, pinstripe suit, politely superior expression.
“Ms Mercer,” he said. “Welcome. We have already coordinated with the venue’s team. British private security will take point inside. Our lads know their own house best, if you take my meaning.”
Translation. Sit back, pretty American. Let the locals handle it.
“I take your meaning,” I said. “And I am not interested.”
He blinked. “Pardon.”
“I am trusting Eli,” I said. “Not a set of faceless contractors who were happy to rent their badge scanners to my enemies six months ago. Ward maintains primary detail around me. If that is a problem, I can always find a different hotel.”
His gaze flicked to Eli, probably expecting him to smooth me over.
Eli just said, “We maintain primary detail or we leave,” voice light, eyes not. “Your people can coordinate. They do not replace.”
The liaison recalibrated. Nodded. Left with more stiffness than he came in with.
When the door shut, I went out onto the small balcony to breathe something that was not air conditioning.
London’s skyline was a different animal than New York’s. Shorter. Denser. Less interested in impressing you, more interested in watching. The wind dragged at my hair and coat, chill soaking through black wool as I stared at the cranes and glass and thought about all the things that had been built on my bones.
Footsteps behind me. Eli joined me, a step back and to the side. Not touching. Close enough that I could feel his body heat through the cold.
“We are walking into the heart of the thing that hollowed both of us out,” I said.
He was quiet for a beat. “You fill those hollow parts now,” he said.
It slipped out of him, honest and unpolished. I felt it land, low and deep. I could have made a joke. I did not. The wind carried it away and left the truth behind.
Inside, near the interior door between our suites, he stopped me with a hand on my sleeve.
“New access card,” he said, pinning it to the inside of my blazer lapel. His fingers brushed my collarbone, slow, careful. The space between us shrank to inches. I could see the darker flecks in his eyes. Feel the steady drag of his breath on my cheek.
For one heartbeat, the logical path was not to the summit schedule.
The logical path was through that door, his mouth, the bed beyond.
“If I start this night with you,” I said, voice low, “I might not walk out of this hotel tomorrow to do what I came here for.”
Pain flickered across his face, quick and naked.
“Then we save it for after we survive,” he said. His hand dropped. He stepped back.
The absence of his touch felt like stepping into cold water.
My phone buzzed.
Summit app notification. Secure channel.
Private session scheduled: Legacy Architect pre brief. Attendance mandatory. Location: Council Level, Room 7.
I had not requested anything. No one had asked me.
Subject line. Legacy Architect Pre Brief.
A chill went through me that had nothing to do with London air.
The web had not just noticed I was here.
It had already set a room aside.