Chapter 57 Predators in Glass
Eli’s POV
The summit venue looked like someone had built a cathedral out of glass and money, then invited every kind of shark to worship inside.
I walked it at seven a m, before most of them were awake. Huge atrium, sunlight pouring through steel ribs, polished stone underfoot. Metal detectors and X ray machines at every official entrance. Credential checks, uniformed cops, private contractors with polite smiles and suspicious eyes.
On paper the perimeter was tight. Inside, it was a maze. Exhibition floors linked by skybridges and half hidden stairs. Meeting rooms stacked on top of each other like someone had shuffled them. Perfect for white collar predators. Too many corners you could disappear behind without ever leaving camera range.
Ash fell into step beside me near the main escalator. He wore the default security uniform of these things. Dark suit, bored expression. Only the way his gaze clipped from face to face gave him away.
“Local threats,” he said, without preamble. “Couple of protest groups outside. One Helix apologist cluster. Mostly noise. Real concern is the private firms tied to Council still sniffing around. Sentinel Gate brought half their senior team. Two outfits we know did quiet work for AegisSight are sponsoring side sessions.”
“Love a reunion,” I said.
Mila met us near a vendor island, clutching a conference coffee like it had personally offended her.
“Wi Fi here is a mess,” she said. “On purpose, probably. Official summit network is clean enough so far. But I found at least four unregistered access points piggybacking in the ceiling space. Not hotel. Not summit. Different MAC fingerprints. I would bet my last clean hoodie they are Lattice nodes.”
“Can you watch them without tipping our hand,” I asked.
She smirked. “Already babysitting. If they sneeze, I will know.”
A movement at the far end of the atrium snagged my attention.
Noah Rye had always looked good in photos. In person, he was worse. Tailored suit that said I am not trying very hard, a small entourage of assistants and junior climbers orbiting him like moons. Easy smile. Perfect conference badge. He laughed at something one of them said, head tipped back in a way that made people want to be in his circle.
His gaze swept the space. Landed on me.
For a heartbeat our eyes met. His mouth curved a fraction, something between amusement and contempt. His gaze flicked down and up, cataloguing me the way you would a new car in someone else’s driveway. Expensive. Useful. Ultimately replaceable.
I stared back until he looked away first. It was petty. It felt good.
The first panel put him and Sloane on the same stage. Of course it did.
Mutually Assured Surveillance: Security in a Transparent Age. The title alone made me want to find whatever committee wrote it and revoke their thesaurus.
Sloane sat in a simple black dress, mic clipped neatly, legs crossed, posture relaxed in the way that came from years of faking it. Noah beside her in navy. A government cybersecurity chief on one side, a Sentinel Gate rep on the other. Moderator in the middle, all neutral smiles.
I took a position in the side aisle, where I could watch the audience, the exits, and her profile at once.
Noah spoke in smooth sentences, full of phrases like responsible stewardship and inevitable consolidation. He praised Helix’s theoretical potential as if he had not been part of the thing that turned it toxic. When he mentioned abuses, he did it with a little shrug, as if they were bugs in an otherwise clean build.
Every time he said private consortia, there was a barely there glance toward Sloane.
She responded with measured calm. “Any system that concentrates that much power,” she said, “whether it is corporate or state, needs accountability built in. Transparent processes. External oversight. Not just an ethics panel you trot out for the cameras.”
Her words were knives wrapped in velvet. The Sentinel Gate rep shifted, smile tightening.
Noah threw loaded compliments her way. “Of course Sloane knows better than anyone how dangerous unchecked tools can be,” he said at one point. “We all watched her grow from wunderkind to, well, whatever the press wants to call her now.”
She did not rise to it. “I know how dangerous it is to believe being the cleverest person in the room will save you from people who want to use your work for their ends,” she said. “I also know you do not fix that by building a bigger room with fewer doors.”
I saw a couple of people in the audience blink at that.
After the panel, the VIP lounge felt like the inside of a very expensive hunting blind. Quiet music, low chairs, waiters with canapés. Powerful people pretending to relax while watching each other like prey.
Sloane stood near a window, drink untouched in her hand, face neutral. I hovered close enough to intercept, far enough not to crowd.
Noah approached like he owned the carpet. Body angled too familiar, smile dialed up.
“Sloane,” he said, leaning in as if to kiss her cheek.
I stepped subtly between them at the last second, pretending to adjust her position toward another cluster. His lips met air a good inch from her skin.
“Careful,” I said lightly. “We do not want to smudge the brand.”
His eyes flashed at me. Then he laughed. “You always did pick fascinating bodyguards,” he said to her. “Upgrade from Berlin, I admit.”
“Some protect me because they care if I breathe tomorrow,” she said, voice cool as dry ice. “Some protected me because their investors cared. I learned the difference.”
For a second something ugly flickered in his expression. Then the charm slid back into place.
He looked at me. “Enjoy the front row while it lasts, Ward,” he said, voice pitched soft for only us. “Council seats change faster than security contracts.”
So he knew about my disciplinary hearing. About Ward’s precarious standing. About the way they were trying to pry me out of her orbit.
Jealousy simmered under my skin, but curiosity rode higher. How much of his obsession with her was personal. How much was direction from the Lattice.
He drifted away, entourage in tow, toward a cluster of regulators. Leaving that little taunt behind like a calling card.
After he left, Sloane exhaled, a small, sharp sound. “Legacy Architect pre brief,” she said under her breath.
“What,” I asked.
She showed me her phone. Summit app. Private session scheduled. Legacy Architect Pre Brief. Council Level, Room Seven. Attendance mandatory.
“That is not on the public agenda,” I said. “That is Council level.”
Her jaw tightened. “Courted or cornered,” she murmured.
“Both,” I said. “They want you in the circle. Or on a spike.”
We both knew she was going. Backing out now would only signal weakness and give them room to spin.
“I will walk you up,” I said.
The elevator to the Council floor required a separate badge and a thumb print. Ash cleared the hallway. Mila’s voice murmured in my ear, confirming no unexpected signals on that level yet.
At the doors, I scanned the corridor one last time. No obvious threats. Just thick carpet and quiet art.
She stepped into the elevator. I stopped the door with my hand, leaned in enough that she could see my face and not just the reflection behind me.
“Remember,” I said. “They only own what you sign away.”
She held my gaze. Nodded once.
Then the doors slid shut between us, taking her up into a floor full of predators in nicer suits, while I stayed below, counting exits and seconds and the beats of my own heart until she came back down.