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Or maybe I understand more than I want to, because there was something weird in the way he stopped himself, something hovering just behind the words as if he’d almost admitted to a thought he wasn’t ready to let exist outside his own head.

I watch him for a moment, and he still doesn’t meet my eyes.

That, more than anything, makes me suspicious. He’s been almost aggressively honest since I woke up, answering questions that make him look terrible with a kind of grim acceptance that leaves me wondering whether guilt is simply another thing he’s learned to carry around without complaining. Yet now, over something that has to be less important than admitting he might have murdered me if not for Dad, he suddenly can’t finish a sentence.

I should probably ask what he meant.

Instead, my attention goes to my wrist.

The pink cuff is still there, soft, padded, and comfortable, which feels like an insult every time I remember that comfortable captivity is still captivity. I turn my hand slightly and watch the fabric shift against my skin before glancing back at him.

“So… if you were Dad’s friend, does that mean I don’t have to wear this anymore?”

Adrien follows my gaze to the cuff. “No.”

The answer is so instant that disappointment fills me before I can pretend I wasn’t expecting anything. “Oh, okay,” I murmur.

“Kamden.”

“It’s fine.”

“It clearly isn’t.”

I draw the comforter higher around my waist. “I just thought things were different now.”

“They are.” His expression softens, but not enough to make me like what comes next. “Just not in that way.”

Of course.

For some stupid reason, I’d let myself imagine that learning who Adrien really is might change the other stuff, as if my father’s trust could be handed down like one of his medals and suddenly make the lock on the door less scary.

Adrien leans back slightly. “You know I was John’s friend now. You know why I refused the order. But that doesn’t change the fact that you woke up in an unfamiliar house after I took you off the street, and you still have every reason to want out.”

“I might not run.”

His brow lifts.

Heat creeps into my face. “Okay, I probably would.”

“You absolutely would.” He gestures loosely toward the dresser. “You tried to take my head off with a lamp while you were still dizzy from sedation. I’m not angry about it, but I’m also not pretending it didn’t tell me something.”

I sink deeper into the pillows. “It told you I was scared.”

“It did. It also told me that if I give you an opening, you’ll take it.”

That hurts because he’s right.

If the bedroom door opened right now, and I knew the front door was unlocked, I would run. The fact that Adrien knows that without needing me to admit it makes the cuff feel heavier.

“Dad trusted you,” I say quietly.

Something changes in his face. “He did.”

“So why can’t I?”

Adrien is silent for a moment, and when he answers, his voice is gentler than before. “Because trust isn’t inherited, sweetheart. John trusting me doesn’t obligate you to do the same, especially given how we met. I’m not going to tell you that you should feel safe just because your father trusted me. You have to decide that for yourself.”

I don’t know what to do with that.