Page 61 of Feral King

“Come in.”

When I open the door, he’s standing by the window. His jacket is off, and I can see the faint outline of the bandage beneath his shirt. He turns when I walk in and scans me the way he always does, as if making sure I’m safe and intact.

I look at his desk, because looking at him feels too intense.

“Close the door.”

“I’d rather leave it open.”

“Lyra. Close the damn door.”

I sigh heavily, then close the door.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says.

“I’ve been working.”

“You’ve been hiding in your office behind your laptop.” He slowly moves closer, as if he can sense my fear. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

I clear my throat.

“There’s nothing to talk about. We agreed we’d keep it business from here on out, remember?”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Because if I look at him, I’ll look at his hands, and if I see his hands, I’ll think back to the photographs. And if I think back to the photographs, I’ll have to reconcile the fact that the man who used those hands to tie a child’s shoelaces the other day so gently alsoused those hands to hurt, maybe even kill.

“Look at me,” he says.

I lift my eyes and meet his gaze.

“Now, tell me what’s going on.”

No sense in dragging it out. I’m not going to attempt to lie either—he’d see through it right away.

“Alexander caught up with me yesterday on my way to the new venue.”

I can see his body tense up a little.

“He showed me pictures on his phone,” I continue. “A warehouse… the shooters… what you did to them.”

Silence.

“And?” he asks finally.

“AndJulian? One of them had a broken jaw, the other’s fingers were?—”

“Broken. Yes. I brokethem.”

His tone is so flat, so cold. He doesn’t defend himself, doesn’t say it wasn’t what it looked like. He doesn’t tell me I don’t understand his world or that I found out something I shouldn’t have.

He confirms it with the same demeanor he has when discussing budgets.

“Those men tried to kill you,” he says. “They tried to kill Anya. They put a bullet through Ethan’s shoulder. If they had the chance, they would’ve come into the venue and executed you. I found them. I hurt them. And I extracted the information I needed. That’s what happened in that warehouse.”

I don’t know what to say. I suppose I’m used to Alexander’s excuses and equivocating. Julian isn’t like that—not at all.

“And you don’t feel any certain way about it?”