Page 44 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Thorn’s apartment is quiet, almost too quiet, a stillness filling the vast space, the city sparkling in the distance through those floor-to-ceiling windows.

Almost as though he inhabits the space but doesn’t actually live here.

The overhead lights are dimmed.

One of my DVDs is playing on his giant TV—this one a dramatic space opera that I normally love but tonight is struggling to hold my attention.

Probably because I was kidnapped yesterday.

Or perhaps because Violet keeps periodically attacking the drawstring on my hoodie.

Or it’s neither of those because it’s Thorn himself who keeps drawing my focus.

It’s almost as though the quiet emptiness exists in him too. As if he doesn’t really live at all. It’s displayed in the careful control of his movements, his words, the way he interacts with me, with Violet. In the strange stillness that settles over him at times.

And in the haunted expression that drifts across his eyes.

Like something important was stolen from him and he’s never gotten it back.

“You’re not watching the movie,” he says from the opposite end of the couch.

I blink. “I am, too.”

“You’re a pretty liar, little hen.”

My eyes narrow. “I know exactly what’s happening. They’re about to launch an attack…”

His mouth quirks. “You only know that because you’ve seen this before.”

He’s not wrong.

I’ve seen the film dozens of times.

“But also,” he says, turning to face me, careful to not dislodge a now-dozing Violet who’s curled up between us, “the battle happened twenty minutes ago.”

I freeze.

Then turn to the screen and scowl as I see he’s right—the heroine is currently threatening the bad guy with a laser blaster while standing in the middle of a spaceship.

Well after the cinematic battle.

Damn.

Thorn chuckles before his attention shifts back toward the television, his expression growing serious.

“She’s not going to shoot him,” he says finally.

“You don’t know that.”

“She’s in love with him.”

Damn again.

He’s right about that too.

“Have you seen this movie before?” I ask—and yeah, it’s accusatory.

His eyes hit mine. “No.”