“In some ways, yes.”
She met her brother’s unwavering gaze. “You’ve been watching me.”
“Yes.”
“You were outside the Vincetti townhouse last night.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to watch you.”
His answer was stated so simply, yet it made the fine hairs on her arms lift. “Why?” she asked again, her voice thinner than before.
“I was curious.” Tiras’s head tilted a fraction as his eyes trailed over her red curls. “You resemble Mother.”
Old grief stabbed her. Tiras wasn’t manipulating her emotions. At least, she was pretty sure he wasn’t. His own were closed off almost entirely. She could barely feel anything from him. A hint of wistfulness, perhaps. But no sorrow, even when referencing their murdered mother.
“You miss her,” Tiras stated. His tone was low. Detached. Just like the wisps of emotion she was able to sense from him.
“Yes.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you?”
Her brother didn’t answer. Just continued to stare at her—specifically, her hair. Her brother had often been remote as a child, but he had never felt this cold. She suddenly realized that was why she hadn’t sensed any emotions from the person she’d felt watching her. Tiras was so removed from his emotions, it was as if he felt nothing.
She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. She couldn’t have called for help if she wanted to. Not that it would have done any good. If she called out to Ford, would he even hear her? She had no idea what Tiras was capable of now. Even as a child, he’d been unspeakably powerful. And if Forddidhear her? If he realized she was in danger? It wouldn’t matter.
He would not win in a fight against Tiras.
Amryn watched her brother as he studied her. “Where have you been?” It wasn’t the most important question, but it was the one that slipped out.
He met her gaze. “Everywhere.”
It wasn’t the answer she’d expected, and yet the truth of it was carried in his voice. There was a sort of agelessness she saw in him that Tiras hadn’t had when he was twelve years old. As if he truly had been everywhere, seen everything . . . and it had bored him.
Her gut clenched. “Why are you here?”
“For you.”
A chill skated down her arms. She took an instinctive step back.
Tiras just watched her, making no move to follow. A predator, unconcerned by the defensive move of its prey. “You’re afraid of me.”
She refused to admit that, even though her heart was hammering and every instinct screamed she was in danger. “Are you here to kill me?”
His head tilted to the side, his expression unchanging. Completely devoid of emotion as he said, “No. Why would you think that? I saved you that night.”
He had. The night their mother was murdered, he’d closed the door to his emotions so he could destroy the men who would have killed them next. Looking into his strangely lifeless eyes now, she was certain he had never reopened that door.
Her fingers tightened around the fan she held. “Why are you here for me, Tiras? Did you come to check on me?” That might explain the faint stirring of curiosity she’d felt from him last night outside the townhome. Then a new thought struck, and she paled. “Did you come to take me?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Her breath caught at those chilling words.
Tiras’s eyes dipped to the fan in her hand. He reached out, and she flinched—but he only plucked the fan from her grip.
He flicked it open, watching as the fan’s art spread into view. As he studied the mountain scene, Amryn wondered what he was thinking. His face revealed nothing. Neither did his emotions.
