Page 71 of Drowning in Darkness

“Outside?”

“That’s generally where they go. Otherwise, they would be considered a bath with jets.”

Her eyes cut to mine. “Do not rob me of this moment with facts.”

She steps closer, the security tour forgotten as she circles the covered edge with an expression I haven’t seen since she spotted the piano. This is not the same ache, though. There is no grief sitting beneath it. Just interest. Wanting. A small piece of ordinary pleasure she hasn’t talked herself out of yet.

“I’ve always wanted to sit in a hot tub while snow falls,” she says, running her covered fingers over the lid. “With a book I will absolutely drop in the water, and hot chocolate, and possibly snacks that will become weirdly damp but still worth it.”

“It’s empty.”

She blinks at me as if I just stole her favorite toy. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Partially drained for maintenance.”

“James.”

“It’s winter.”

“Exactly.”

“It takes time to fill and heat.”

“Are you telling me this because you relish in destroying joy, or because there is a possibility of resurrecting it later?”

I look from her to the tub. Two hours to fill if the water pressure behaves. Longer to heat. More wood for the burner if the temperature drops the way the warning predicts. The sensible thing would be to leave it until tomorrow, once I’ve checked the forecast again and confirmed the power won’t flicker.

“I’ll look at it later.”

Her face brightens. “Really?”

“It’s there. It may as well serve its function.”

She grins, and for one stupid second, I forget about cameras, sensors, boundaries, and all the reasons this woman should not be looking at me like I’ve handed her something more meaningful than warm water with a snowy backdrop.

“Kidnapped orientation day is improving.”

“It’s not kidnapped orientation day.”

“Then why am I wearing your hoodie and being shown where I’m allowed to walk?”

The question is light, but I hear the undertone. The snow keeps falling between us while I study the woman wrapped in my clothes, standing inside the safest place I can offer her and still hearing prison bars in every precaution.

“You’re allowed to walk wherever you want,” I say, choosing each word with care. “My job is to make sure you understand which places I can protect and which ones I can’t.”

Her smile falters, but it doesn’t vanish. “That’s almost reassuring.”

“Almost?”

“You need softer edges for full reassurance.”

“I’ll add it to your feedback form.”

“Good. I have thoughts.”

“I assumed.”

She steps away from the hot tub, and as we continue along the deck toward the woodshed, I make a note to check the pump, test the heater, and fill the damn thing before dinner.