“Milo Jenkins.” When both Ophan Mira and I twisted around to look at her, she blushed and cleared her voice. “I heard you were trying to find high scorers. Milo Jenkins is worth thirty-one feathers.” Her hand dropped from the lock of hair she was toying with. “I started on him earlier in the week. He’s . . . ripe. Just trace his name.” So I did. The face of a young man with a mohawk and more piercings than skin appeared in place of the older one Mira had suggested. She peered at his rap sheet. “You’re still signed on to him, Fletching Liv.” “I know. But if Celeste would like to take over, I’ll
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