…He could work with that.

Harper gave a sigh, followed by another grin. “Ah well.” The southern accent was gone, and in its place was the neutral one all agents used when out of the field. “Okay, Agent, in the interests of keeping a low profile, you clear up this mess, and I’ll reset the cache. Be quick about it—the street is getting busier, and I’d rather not have to answer a lot of questions. This was supposed to be a quick stop, and hanging around here is going to look suspicious.”

Harper’s eyes moved casually over their surroundings, taking in a woman in her fifties carrying a box of doughnuts. He gave her a polite nod.

Fourteen bent to the task, efficiently and methodically clearing the clothing away from the front of the box, making sure that the pull-down door was unobscured. When asked, he handed the bag he had removed from the box to Harper so he could put it back inside.

“Can’t clear the place out, you know. It’s in the rulebook, man. Something in your head really must have gone off for you to forget that.” Harper said as he closed the false bottom and reset the latch.

Fourteen gave him his best dead-eyed expression and kicked Harper in the solar plexus, knocking him inside the box. With his other foot, he kicked the door closed and braced himself against it, sliding the lock into place.

Leaning against the box, he said in a conversational tone, “So… got a minute?”

“Let me get this straight. You’ve come up against a new kind of tech, and you want my help?” Harper couldn’t keep the skepticism off his face.

Fourteen had taken Harper to a coffee shop across town. He thought it would be a good idea to get some distance from the charity drop box. Too many people had noticed their interaction, and it was only a matter of time before someone called the police. Neither of them wanted that complication, so it hadn’t been difficult to negotiate a ceasefire.

Fourteen leaned his chair back until it touched the wall—he had point-blank refused to sit with his back to the door, something Harper had grudgingly conceded to him—and asked, “I’ll admit it sounds unlikely, but do you think we’d be sitting here now if I didn’t need you for something?”

Harper’s eyes lost their customary spark of humor. “I have a feeling I’d be nothing more than an unpleasant surprise for the person who empties the donation box.”

If Fourteen had been running on his old OS, Harper would have been correct in his assumption, but having more control over his own actions meant he could choose less lethal options now. However, Fourteen felt no need to correct the man. It suited his purposes for Harper to have a healthy fear of him, so he only smiled, making sure to show plenty of teeth.

Harper didn’t conceal the shudder it provoked. “Okay, so you need me for something, I’ll accept that much. What’s so terrible that you of all people need help?”

Here came the tricky part. Fourteen had no desire to spend the rest of the day convincing someone that magic was real, so he’d have to improvise. “Like I said, there’s a new company making experimental weapons for the American government. It’s unlike anything either of us have ever come up against.”

“And you want to, what? Steal it?” Harper asked, a glint of avarice flaring in his eyes. “If what you’re telling me is true, the Colonel would welcome you back with open arms. The loss of Steve and Frank would be nothing compared to this. That’s why you ran, isn’t it? You wanted to make up for bungling your last mission before coming back.”

It would have been smart for Fourteen to agree. He could have made that story work for him until it was time to bail, but the wash of red over his eyes at the mention of the Colonel made it impossible.

Fourteen’s hand tightened around his cup, causing the coffee to spill over the edges, ruining the fancy heart the barista had drawn in the foam. “I’m not coming back. I’ll see you all dead before that happens.” His voice was a low growl.

Harper didn’t flinch this time; instead, his eyebrows came together in irritation. “Come on, man. It’s not that bad. We all volunteered for this gig, after all.”

Fourteen was ready for the anger this time and had taken his hands well away from his abused coffee cup and braced them on the table. “Volunteer? None of what was done to me was my choice. I didn’t even know how old I was until—” An audible crack sounded through the small cafe as the edge of the wooden table broke off in his hands.

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Harper looked around the shop anxiously. Fortunately, the place was empty of customers, and the barista had gone into the back. “How could your training have degraded so quickly? Your file said you were fine a week ago.”

Fourteen was grateful the table had given out before he had a chance to reveal more than he’d wanted to. He forced himself to watch the anger until it settled back into place before replying. “It’s not your concern anymore.”

“It’s my concern if you’re asking me to partner with you. Getting a chance to work with you in the field is one thing, but I’m not insane. I’m not going anywhere with you if you’re unstable.”

“Just don’t mention the Colonel, and I’ll be fine.” Harper looked unconvinced, so Fourteen elaborated. “Trust me, what I’m offering you is worth the risk.”

“I’m listening.”

“The people creating this new tech took something from me that I want back. There are enough of them that I’ll need every advantage I have to get it.”

“So you aren’t after this weapon?”

“I don’t give two shits about their weapons, I just want my… property back.” He imagined what Cym would say about being referred to as property and smiled.

Again, Harper looked unsettled by whatever expression Fourteen had actually managed to produce on his face. “What’s in it for me?” His eyes darted toward the door like he was about to bolt.

“I have armor that stops their weapons cold, and I happen to have a spare set I’m willing to give to you if you help me get inside.”

Harper’s body language shifted subtly; until now, he had given Fourteen the impression he was about to flip the table and run at the first sign of trouble. Now he looked conflicted. All Fourteen needed to do was emphasize the reward enough to override the man’s sense of self-preservation.

“Think about this: a new player shows up on the scene with weapons no one knows what to do with—they can bring WMDs anywhere and go undetected, they have cloaking technology”—Fourteen was wildly speculating at this point, but Astin had done something like cloaking when he was inside that weird hole of his—“the Colonel would kill to get his hands on. The entire world would be in an uproar, and then you show up with a set of armor that negates those weapons…” he trailed off, allowing Harper’s imagination to take it from there.

“How… how do I know you aren’t lying to get me to let you go?”

Fourteen narrowed his eyes. “Do you really think I’m worried about you taking me in?” He considered giving Harper a detailed analysis of the odds on it, but didn’t think humiliating the man would get him to help.

Harper rolled his eyes and didn’t take the bait.

Fourteen decided to stop being an asshole. Harper had completely abandoned looking for escape routes and seemed like he was moments from succumbing to his own greed. All he needed was one more push, and Fourteen was happy to oblige.

Fourteen pulled out his phone, opened his security app, and found the video he wanted. “This was taken two hours ago.”

Harper watched the security feed of the fight inside the warehouse. There was a lot of distortion, but the footage showed Stella creating something in her hands and throwing it at Fourteen and Cym. It also showed the something bouncing away at the last second and pulverizing the wall beside them. It was more than Fourteen wanted The Company to know about Cym, but his face was small and fuzzy in the shot, so it was an acceptable risk.

Fourteen pulled his phone away from Harper’s grabby hands, though, because he refused to give Harper the chance to see enough of Cym to be able to recognize him in the future. If he played it right, Harper would never even see Cym, but he’d rather not tempt fate.

“This could be faked.”

“True. But if it isn’t, you’ll be kicking yourself for not taking the chance. Come with me, and I’ll prove it. If I’m lying, you can abandon the mission. All I need is a distraction. Once it’s done, we can part ways and pretend we never saw one another.”

“If anyone finds out about this, I’m a dead man.” Harper’s words didn’t match the excitement on his face.

“I wouldn’t be asking you to help if I didn’t think you were good enough to keep this a secret.” Fourteen wasn’t lying—he’d known Harper long enough to respect him as an agent, and he knew he was lucky Harper was the one who found him. He had the skills necessary to get the job done, and unlike most of the other agents, he’d never treated Fourteen as an object.

A shadow crossed Harper’s face. “You really didn’t know how old you are?”

“No,” Fourteen said shortly, making sure his voice didn’t invite further conversation on the subject.

“Well, I reckon a man has the right to decide his own fate,” Harper drawled irritatingly. “As much as I have the right to take a chance on helping you.”

“You’re a true humanitarian.”

“Soon to be a very rich one, I hope.”

Fourteen nodded. It was possible Fourteen’s spare set of armor would help Harper climb the ladder in The Company. Even if the magical community didn’t clash with The Company in the future, his armor was still better than anything any of the other operatives had.

He just had to hope they could evade Company detection long enough to retrieve his armor from the warehouse. They were going to have to try. His plan wouldn’t work without it.