There’s another fragging good reason, too: self-preservation. For Blake to send a hit team out after me instead of waiting for me to come back to the safe house must mean he thought I wasn’t coming back. He must have believed I was bugging out to scurry on home and spill my fragging guts to the Star. It would be a simple matter to set a few watchers around Star HQ—snipers, maybe, backed with magical talent and hammer a bullet or a spell into my brain when I show up. Not a trick Blake would miss, let me tell you.