"The property." The words feel foreign in my mouth. "We're viewing it when?"
"Tomorrow afternoon! I thought we could meet with the property agent." She's practically glowing. "Gray Streak knows where the estate office is."
"No one's contacted them yet?"
"Well, no. I thought you'd want to handle that part." She tilts her head. "You're much better at... authoritative communication."
She means threats. She wants me to threaten someone into showing us property.
"You want me to intimidate someone into real estate."
"I want you to motivate someone toward efficient property viewing." She's definitely managing me. "Very different things."
"Security assessment happens first," I hear myself say. "Full perimeter check. Every entrance, every exit, every potential breach point."
"Of course! You're the expert on defensive positions." She's beaming at me. "And entrance routes. And exit plans. You think of everything."
Definitely managing me. With compliments that sound sincere because they probably are.
"The price—"
"Who better to negotiate? You're extremely intimidating. We'll probably get a significant discount just from your presence."
"We're not paying asking price."
"Obviously not. That would be financially irresponsible."
When did she learn phrases like 'financially irresponsible'? Yesterday she was bartering paintings for vegetables.
"Everyone back to work," I order. Need to regain some control. "Finn, finish whatever you're doing with those towels. Tooth, the sheet situation needs resolution. Gray Streak, I want full surveillance reports on the neighborhood."
They scatter, but not with the usual fear-based efficiency. There's energy there. Excitement. Hope.
Disgusting.
Grimm passes close, moving slower than usual. "Heard about the bathrooms. Seven of them." He actually looks wistful. "Be nice not to rush."
"Rush?"
He flushes slightly. "Some of us like to take our time. Hot water runs out fast here."
My enforcer. Admitting to long showers. What's next, discussing preferred bath salts?
"Noted," I manage.
He nods and ambles off, probably to dream of unlimited hot water.
"I put you in the master suite," Olivia says once we're relatively alone. My shadows split between us now—some returning to me reluctantly, others staying firmly draped around her shoulders. "For all your shadow needs."
"Shadow needs."
"Storage, brooding, whatever you do in private. It has excellent ventilation."
Ventilation. She's considered my shadow ventilation requirements.
The shadows that return to me feel different. Warmer. They carry impressions of morning sunlight, of her laughter, of being useful for something other than terror. They pool at my feet but keep reaching toward her.
"The estate office." I'm thinking out loud now. "Where is it?"
