The holding room smelled of concrete and old blood no one had bothered to scrub from the seams. Raven closed the door behind her with her good shoulder. The Viper sat zip-tied to the chair at the center, hood still in place. She crossed the space in three quiet steps and yanked it off.
He blinked once against the overhead light. Younger than expected. Calm mouth. Eyes already running calculations. Not afraid enough — that registered low and flat, like a temperature reading.
She stayed standing. Bandaged forearm loose at her side. The slash burned steady, low and useful, keeping her anchored. She let the silence sit for a full ten seconds. He didn't fill it.
"You know who I am," she said.
"Raven Caruso." He said it the way a man would say the name of a city he'd once passed through. Not impressed. Not hostile. Factual. "Or De Luca, depending on which side of this war you've decided to stand on."
