Page 118 of Mile High Ruin

She looks through the window. Cloud cover has broken beneath us, revealing a patchwork of green fields, villages, and narrow roads. “How much longer?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“To wherever you refuse to tell me we’re going.”

“Yes.”

She studies me.

After a minute, she says, “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Secretive.”

“Yes.”

“That was immediate.”

“It’s an easy question.”

She looks out of the window again. “Do you have your men waiting for us there?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Is it like, a special place for you?”

The question makes me look up. “Why?”

“Because you said we were going somewhere secure, and people usually feel safest in places they know.”

“That is a reasonable conclusion.”

“So?”

“Yes.”

Her eyebrows rise slightly. “You do.”

“I said yes.”

“How about your parents?” she asks. That feels like a very big pivot.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I say.

“Please.”

“No, they passed several years ago,” I say.

“Siblings?”

“Some family.”

She waits.

I don’t elaborate.

“You are exhausting,” she says.