Vince Vale was coming for me. That was settled. The only question was timing and whether I would be ready when he arrived.
The look on his face in that doorway had been cold. Not rage, something worse. The expression of a man who had quietly decided that something needed to be dealt with and had already begun thinking through how. Calm. Methodical. Patient in a way that made it more dangerous, not less.
One of us, I thought, climbing the Vale building stairs, is going to have a very bad night when that moment comes. And I intend for it to be him.
But nights like that didn't get won with wishes. They got won with preparation. And preparation started with information. And information meant Sherry Vayne.
****
The classroom at School Central was less a room for learning than a terrarium for the wealthy and unsupervised. Warm afternoon light slanted through tall windows, catching dust motes that drifted lazily above clusters of students.
