She waits patiently as he finishes his work, watching him write in the tidy numbers of the Club's books. From the moment she met him, she'd known he was bright, clever; looking at the neat columns he's laid out on paper just reinforces the fact. He makes it look as effortless as her walking a high wire and she wonders, not for the first time and certainly not the last, how many other talents he has buried under the brutal face.

Her patience is rewarded, the deliberately softened thunk of the object he places on his desk immediately catching her attention. It's a blade, sheathed, and she steps closer, hand hovering over the handle.

"Part of my contract?" How much will this set her back? What does she owe? Why give this to her? The questions flood, each one sitting on the tip of her tongue, waiting.