He set his fork down and fixed me with a flat gaze. “Why haven’t you left? To gather some information and publish? Why are you doing this?”
The air snapped taut. My pulse thrashed, hammering in my ears, taken aback by how quick the mood could change. Suddenly, sitting across from him felt like being trapped in a cage with the wildest predator, my words the only thing between me and death. My throat tightened, those same words tangling like knots.
He knew.
He knew that I knew.
My chest pounded.
“It’s not like that. Why would I do that?”
Because you’re researching. You’re the first person to ever see what the Soulless Man truly looks like. Historians would kill for this opportunity.
The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. Using him as research wasn’t on the list of things I’d ever do. I’d never considered him research material. Not once.
“It’s true you’re the topic for my thesis,” I admitted. “But that’s not why I didn’t say anything.”
His head tilted, the gesture urging me on.
“You asked why I haven’t left. Where would I go? Every place has been bought by a certain person. The train won’t be here for another eight days. I don’t have much choice but to be stuck here with you.”
His throat bobbed up and down with a swallow. He leaned back, clearing his throat. “Is that what you want? To leave?”
“I don’t think I have that choice.”
“If you did?” His jaw tightened. “Would you leave?”
“Do you want me to?”
His voice grated low. “Do you want to leave, Sanora?”
“If I wanted to, would you give me the key to one of the places you bought?”
“Is that what you want?”
I sighed. “No. Maybe I did in the beginning, but not anymore. And it didn’t cross my mind to run when I found out.”
“Why? To—”
“No. Not to get any fuck-ass information out of you.”
“Why then? Out of pity?”
I froze, my tongue thick in my mouth. Pity wasn’t the right word. I couldn’t say it was out of pity, but what would it be then? Love? Curiosity? Why else would I want to stay under the same roof with a cursed immortal with...superpowers? For fun?
None of that sounded sane.
He took my lack of response as an answer and returned to eating.
To break the awkward silence, I asked, “How did you find out that I know?”
It took him a moment. “You were sleep talking that night,” he said finally, still focused on the food. “You asked if I’d really lived for one thousand, four hundred and twenty-three years.”
My jaw nearly dropped. Out of all the questions, why that one? My stomach churned at the thought of those words slipping from my unconscious mouth. “Then why didn’t you say anything yesterday and today?”
“Why do you think?” He still didn’t look up, and I knew for a fact that my food was nothing worth concentrating on.
“Because you were waiting for me to bring it up,” I mumbled a guess.
