The cash register’s refusal status display blinked at seventy-two seconds with a sharp electronic chirp.
72
71
70
Julian Vance did not look down at the amber numerals. He kept his eyes locked on the creature’s forehead.
“Store Cash-Handling Rule 04B, Section Four,” Julian said, his voice ringing loud and clear through the quiet aisles. “Bearer photo-identification and optical parity verification. Point Four of the mandatory large-bill audit.”
Across the intact acrylic sneeze-guard, the Actuary of Zero-Hour did not smile.
Its grey eyes--stolen from Julian’s own pupils--were fixed on Julian’s face with cold, predatory calculation. The inverted scar above its right eyebrow twitched once, twice, three times, like a white thread caught in a draft.
