Chapter Eight
There were few things in the galaxy better than a fresh, piping hot beignet. Erik loved them enough that he’d take them cold or at room temperature, but the texture of a batch right out of the fryer could not be beaten.
He bit into one, savoring the sugary-sweet taste.
A few days had passed since the discussion with Malcolm. Nothing new had arisen with the conspiracy, and Erik and Jia had investigated and solved a minor theft case within one day. The Shadow Zone criminals might be getting more vicious and cunning, but the Uptown lawbreakers had seemed to reduce their intelligence (since, Erik concluded, typing “lose their damned minds” was inappropriate in written reports) as desperation grew.
For now, though, Erik didn’t care about anything other than enjoying the pastry
