I take her in. Her hair is pulled back, but strands have slipped free around her face. The firelight glints against them. Her skin looks pale in the glow, and there are shadows under her eyes. She looks tired, worn down, but still beautiful.
Her lips part as she watches me, and I feel the pull in my chest.
I crush it down. “I came to check if you need anything.”
She lifts her eyes, slow and unimpressed. “Since when did the warden start making his own nightly rounds?”
“I’m not your warden.”
“Right.” Her mouth twists faintly. ”Just the man with the keys.”
I hold her stare and fight the urge to snap. “I had electronics sent up. I thought you’d appreciate them.”
“I do,” she admits. “Thanks for the Kindle. Though I’d like to trade the TV for a pair of running shoes.”
My brow lifts. “Running shoes?”
“Even convicts get yard time. Exercise, sunshine, a chance not to go insane.” She flips another page, eyes still on me. “Or is cardio too much of a security risk?”
“Again: I am not a warden and you are not a prisoner.”
“Right,” she scoffs. “Tell that to the locks.”
The fireplace crackles. It softens a silence I don’t know how to fill.
Part of me wants to tell her she’s wrong, that I’m not holding her prisoner. The other part knows it’s exactly what I’m doing.
I have to,I remind myself. If she had the chance, she’d run again.
And I can’t let that happen.
Sima shifts in her chair. The top button of her pajama has come undone, and as she moves, the fabric falls just enough to reveal the soft curve of her breast.
Heat stirs low in me. I curl up my fists and force myself to breathe through my nose. My hand twitches at my side. I should leave this room. Better to walk out than say something I’ll regret. Or worse, do.
But before I can turn, her voice cuts through the quiet. “I heard about your brother.”
I freeze.
Slowly, I look back at her. She’s still curled in the chair, the e-reader limp on her lap now. Her eyes search mine.
“Kira told me he woke up. From the coma.” She draws a slow breath. “I just… I’m glad. I know how much he means to you.”
The room feels smaller all at once. I grip the back of the closest chair to ground myself. She’s right. Dimitri matters more than anything to me. He always has.
“Yeah,” I say finally, my voice rough. “He’s awake.”
She just nods and looks back down at her lap.
I draw a slow breath. “I owe you an apology.”
Her head lifts. She looks at me, uncertain.
“I didn’t believe you when you swore you had nothing to do with the attempt on my brother’s life,” I murmur. “I accused you without proof and treated you like a traitor. That was a mistake.”
Her eyes widen, as if she’s waiting for the catch. When I don’t say anything else, she straightens up a little.
I brace myself for a blow. For her to twist this moment into something sharp.
