Page 25

Her voice came back—quiet. “The coffee.”

I tracked her without thinking.

Position.

Distance.

Weight shifting.

No retreat.

No sharp inhale.

No fear.

That was… new.

“It smelled strong.”

“The coffee offends you?”

“No,” she corrected. “It just… smelled good, that’s all.”

“And the scent of the coffee is all you needed to say?”

There was a pause. Weight shifted again. Getting more predictable now.

“Yes.”

I turned away. “You shift your weight when you lie.”

Silence for a second. Then⁠—

“The recording.” There was a tremor in her voice. “What was that?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Fear flickered inside me. My mind raced, trying to understand her. Trying to stay one step ahead. How much did she hear exactly? Enough to go back to London. But would she? I didn’t know. The thought lingered. There was something about her stillness. The way she feel… scared. No, this one wouldn’t tell. I wasn’t sure I liked how that felt.

“While you’re here.” I motioned to the seat in front of the desk. “There are a few things we need to discuss.”

“Okay.” She murmured carefully.

Her foot scraped against the floor with each step. I tracked it. The weight. The shift. The imbalance. Still she never slowed. Didn’t compensate. Pain was a language this woman knew well. Something in me flickered. Compassion. Recognition. I shoved it down and crossed my legs.

Weight shifted. Settled.

“The house has rules.”

Silence.

Then—

“Okay.”

Her breaths came slow and even. There was no fidgeting. I waited for the fear. There was none.

“Rule one. You do not enter the east wing under any circumstances.”