Zelda Verada's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Morning came hard. Sinclair was still on the cot when a runner slid a note under the tent flap. The handwriting was Achilles'. One line: Sleuth's Haven. Now. Come alone. Zelda folded the note and pocketed it. She told Sinclair she'd be back before the bandage needed changing. He didn't ask. He knew the look. The old detective office sat three blocks past the fence. Brick walls, a faded sign, filing cabinets inside that nobody had bothered to loot. Achilles was waiting by the window. Marcus stood behind him in the shadow of a cabinet, arms folded, saying nothing. A prewar Vault-Tec map was spread across the desk, frequency marks circled in red. "They're already listening," Achilles said. He tapped the map. "The dish under your yard is live. Same channel a dead scavenger was running. Somebody well-funded knows what Marcus is sitting on." He slid a small object across the desk. A photograph, creased to softness, of Zelda's own face. Younger. Cleaner. "Kira Dallas gave me this. She knows who I used to be. She knows who you used to be too." Marcus spoke once. "He's leaving tonight. Unless you give him a reason." Then he stepped back and let the silence work. Zelda picked up the photograph. She didn't flinch. She set it face-down on the map and put her hand flat over both. "You want proof the plan works. Here it is. Sinclair knows everything now. The four of us hold Red Hills' hub or nobody does. I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm telling you I already bet my life on this, and I'm still standing." She met his eyes. "Stay, and I'll show you the inside of the operation by week's end. Walk, and you take that picture with you and explain it to whoever's paying you next." Achilles looked at the photo a long moment. Then he pulled out a chair and sat down. "One week," he said. Marcus nodded once and left. Outside, an eyebot hummed past the window, slow and searching. Zelda watched it go. The alliance was whole now — and somebody already knew it.