The glowing light inked itself into the skin of the Geist. Gilded liquid pooled beneath the surface, gathering in spots along the temples, the cheeks, between the brows and above the chin. It pulsed as the man breathed, in and out, in the slow rhythm of sleep. His eyes took on a golden glint, mixing into the background of his brown iris. What was once unremarkable suddenly became something else entirely.

Dan's mind worked furiously as he waited for something to happen. Rawls had called this person a Geist, a term Dan had never heard before, but seemed to describe something he already knew existed. These were the covert agents, saboteurs, assassins that the government used when subtlety was required. Anastasia probably had a handful of them on her payroll. Which, actually, put a disturbing thought into Dan's head. He summoned his phone, opened its camera app, and snapped a quick picture of the Geist's face.

"What are you doing?" Rawls asked, his hand still pressed against the prisoner's face. The golden light continued to swirl in ever-expanding pools. The Geist's breaths came quicker now; shallow, strained pants accompanied by tiny puffs of golden mist from between pale pink lips.

Dan texted the picture to Anastasia, followed by a question: This asshole on your payroll?

"Trying to get an ID," Dan replied, lowering his phone. He glanced at Rawls, then down to the Geist. Dan opened his mouth, paused, then thought better of it. He had planned on asking a question, but that would reveal his ignorance. There was trust between them, at the moment, but any minute now, the federal agent would remember that Dan was a complete stranger to him. When that happened, Dan wanted there to be an impression of confident professionalism to ward off any foolish thoughts the fed might stumble upon.

Instead, Dan stayed silent. He let Rawls do his work, as the Truth-teller upgrade filled the Geist's form with its illuminating light. Liquid churned and roiled, trapped beneath the skin. It wasn't until pale skin turned to splendiferous gold, shining like a bulb, that Rawls removed his Midas touch. That was a better name for the upgrade, Dan reflected. Something whimsical, less on the nose. But this was a federally-restricted upgrade, and they did not do whimsy.

Not on purpose.

Dan's phone vibrated at the same moment that Rawls withdrew his upgrade. The soft buzz might as well have been a shout in the silent room. Dan checked the caller ID, while Rawls watched curiously. The Lady Summers had gotten back to him quickly, and with a phone call at that. She preferred others to come to her, always taking some small satisfaction in the symbolism of the act. For her to give that up, especially over Dan...

Something had caught her interest.

There was an opportunity here, Dan could feel it. He could feel a twisty path through the forest of choices that would end up with him where he wanted to be. It was a path that was, for the first time that Dan could recall, almost entirely without risk. The cost of failure would leave him no worse off than where he started.

Dan answered the phone, greeting the dangerous old woman at the other end of the line with a simple, "Lady Summers."

Rawls twitched at the name. A startled expression crossed his face, and he visibly began to make guesses about Dan that were probably incorrect. That was fine. He didn't mind dropping names in front of this man. The situation had changed. Anonymity was useful, right up until it wasn't. Now was the time to lean on his connections, and the reputation they carried along with them. Anastasia was a potent card to play; all the better when she didn't know he was playing her. Less chance of her deliberately fucking him over, that way.

"Newman," Anastasia Summers replied. "How have you subdued a Geist, and where did you find a Truth-teller?"

The demands came without preamble; as was her way. Dan was beginning to know Anastasia, beginning to understand the woman who would inevitably be a part of his life, for so long as Abby could stand him. He was learning her ways. How to speak with her, how to exploit her. It was a long time coming, this understanding, but he used it now.

Anastasia Summers hoarded secrets like miser did gold. She held them close, bound them tight, and rarely let them go. They were her weakness, the sweet nectar of temptation; knowledge was the only trade that would prise her own secrets from out between sharp teeth. It was a jealousy, deliberately cultivated. Anastasia Summers hated ignorance, and her own above all. The need to know, stirred her to action.

Dan, in his ignorance, had given up the juiciest morsels without contest. He'd learned better, now. Anastasia's leverage on him was weak, and weaker by the day. She held valuable secrets for him, but he understood now that they would never leave her lips. Not freely, at least, and he couldn't imagine the price one would have to pay for Anastasia to betray her most precious granddaughter. And, rest assured, Abby would see any move against Dan as a betrayal.

This bizarre confluence of circumstances put the two of them at a bizarre sort of truce. They were equals in a way, in that for all of Anastasia's power there was little she could do to Dan, nor he to her. He wasn't afraid of her, not anymore; not for a long time now. And now, with eyes unclouded by that fear, he saw options.

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"Answers for answers, Anastasia," he said, evoking her given name so that there could be no doubt about her identity. Rawls picked up on it at once, and Dan saw the moment where guesses crystalized into fact. Assumptions were made, conclusions drawn. Rawls was not a simple man, and he was high enough in the government to know some secrets. He could put two and two together. Unfortunately, at least in this case, the answer he arrived at was twenty-seven.

Dan saw this in a flash of micro-expressions that he would never have caught a year ago, but Cornelius' training was paying dividends this day. He saw it all, noted it, and said nothing. He listened instead to Anastasia's grinding teeth, and waited for the answer he knew would come.

"You first," she said petulantly, once sufficient time had passed to express her displeasure. It was meant to intimidate him, and even over the phone he could feel the looming presence of a hungry wolf. Those cold eyes, two ice chips glittering with malice, embedded in a face carved out of marble. It was nothing new. It hadn't worked before, hadn't for a while now, and Anastasia knew it. Still, she played her part, if only to make him uncomfortable.

Dan didn't mind going first. "He tried to kill someone in front of me. I stopped him. The target used the Truth-teller." He kept his answers simple and truthful, and more importantly, vague. He made it a fight, because everything was a fight with Anastasia. Every conversation was a hostile one, and every bargain was a competition. If he didn't attack first, he'd be stuck defending.

Anastasia bristled. "That tells me nothing."

"Ask better questions," Dan challenged her. "You recognized him as a Geist, so you've seen him before. Who does he work for?" Obviously not her; she would've demanded his release by now, were that the case.

There was a snarling sound as Anastasia admitted, "I don't know who he works for. The last I saw him, he was still in training at Shangri-La. Who was the target?"

"Jeremy Rawls," Dan replied, rewarding her straightforward answer with one of his own. Rawls flinched at his own name, obviously recognizing that it was being told to an incredibly dangerous individual.

"Head of the VRU?" Anastasia murmured, so quiet he could barely hear her. "Using a Geist... but why?"

"We don't know why," Dan admitted. "I was hoping you would."

"We'll know shortly," Rawls interrupted, as he examined the Geist's face. "The Truth-teller is ready."

"Wait!" Anastasia hissed urgently, having apparently overheard the fed. "Geist's are trained for obfuscation. You must question them carefully!"

Dan paused, surprised that she'd volunteer such information. Whatever was going on, she must have had no idea at all that it would happen. Dan knew it must be eating at her. He resisted the urge to needle at her ignorance, and did as she asked, halting Rawls before he could begin his questions.

"You have a suggestion?" he asked the Summers matriarch.

"Ask precise questions, leave no room for interpretation," she instructed. "Consider them carefully. I doubt you'll get more than three, before the charge is expended."

Dan repeated this to Rawls, whose face scrunched into a frown. "I should have expected that. I didn't realize it would apply to the Truth-teller. Our own upgrade..." He shook his head. "No matter. I know what to ask." He towered over the Geist, staring down until their eyes found each other.

"What were your mission objectives today, as you understood them?" Rawls demanded, and the golden glow beneath the Geist's skin began to swirl and churn. More sparkling mist escaped from his mouth in sharp pants, as he fought the effect of the upgrade. The glow increased, coalescing around the man's throat and temples.

Finally, he spoke, "I am to arrange the death of Jeremy Rawls. Publicly if possible, or at home if not." Every word was accompanied by a puff of golden mist, and as it escaped, the glow dimmed. He seemed to struggle for a moment, before adding. "The death needs to be above suspicion." The glow in his throat all but receded at that answer. His temples shined golden, but they fading fast. The effect was already wearing off.

Rawls looked aghast, glancing from the Geist, to the tiny, black box filled with vials and syringes. "They were going to dose me," he muttered in horror. "Some Chemist concoction to drive me mad or stop my heart. But—"

"Don't ask why," Dan ordered. "Don't take that chance." He still wasn't quite sure how the Truth-teller worked, but if the Geist interpreted Rawls' ramblings as a question, they might lose their chance. Every implication seemed to indicate that the upgrade could not be used multiple times in quick succession.

Rawls paused, gathered himself. "Yes, of course. You're right."

"You think he has another answer in him?" Dan asked, gesturing to the Geist.

The fed nodded. "Only one. We should make it count."

Dan held the phone to his ear. "You catch that?"

"I did." Anastasia's voice was carefully controlled. "See if you can get his employer. He won't know a name, but he can probably guess at the division. The Truth-teller must ask the questions."

She knows, Dan realized. She knows he doesn't understand the upgrade, and she wants answers desperately enough to enlighten him.

"We need to know who holds his leash," Dan told Rawls, who nodded in agreement.

Once more, he loomed over the Geist. Eye contact was made, a question, asked:

"To the best of your knowledge, from what office do you receive your orders?"

The Geist drew in a rattling breath. When he spoke, the light bled away, pouring from his mouth like blood from a punctured lung.

"Radiological Emergence Division," he rasped. "Domestic Terrorism Unit."

Dan nodded to himself. That tracked. He knew that someone in the FBI was trying to ruin Rawls, though an outright assassination attempt seemed a little extreme to Dan. Either way, it was the last answer they'd be getting out of the Geist. The golden light faded in its entirety, leaving behind skin that was pale and sweaty. The Geist's breaths came in heavy gasps, and his eyes rolled in their sockets, pupils blown wide. Rawls stepped away from him, a deep, unpleasant scowl on his face.

"So," he said, "my enemy is known to me."

Anastasia, though, had other thoughts.

"This," she declared, with the conviction of a zealot, "is the People's doing."