The rifles came down.
Arthur did not move. The tendons in his neck were rigid against my forearm, and I could feel his pulse hammering through them—fast, furious. A military man's heartbeat.
He was still scheming despite his situation.
"Good." I kept my voice low, meant only for him. "Now we can talk like adults."
I released him and stepped back. Not far. Just enough to give him the option of turning around.
"Work with us." I suggested.
"Work with you," Arthur repeated.
"That's what I said."
"You walked into my facility, put four of my best men on the ground, held a gun to my throat—"
"I don't carry a gun."
"—held lightning to my throat," he corrected, and there was something almost dry in the way he said it, "and now you want cooperation."
"I want more than cooperation." I moved to the table and looked down at the maps spread across it.
