Marlowe
The whole club had gathered in the main yard by the time I arrived, more people than I'd ever seen assembled in one place at once — patched members, prospects, even a handful of retired old-timers who'd apparently come specifically to witness this particular ceremony.
King stood at the center of it, formal in a way I rarely saw him, and Wrench stood beside him, ready to formally present my nomination to the assembled club exactly as tradition demanded.
"Marlowe—" Wrench caught himself, the old cover name slipping automatically even now, "—Finch Calloway. Prospect, nine months served. Nominated for early patch evaluation based on exceptional skill, dedication, and service to this club. Any objections?"
Silence. My heart hammered loud enough I was certain half the yard could hear
