He clenches his jaw.
I continue, "Why is Vito still driving me? I requested a new driver months ago."
His jaw tics. "The Omni denied your request."
My stomach drops. "Why?"
He stares at me.
My pulse stammers. My bitter and hollow laugh echoes around us. "Of course they did. Why support the girl they branded in the Scarlet Hour? Why give her competent guards?"
Kirill shifts. The floor vibrates under his weight. "Valentina?—"
"No. Don't use that voice," I sharply reprimand.
"What voice?" he asks quietly.
"That one. The one filled with pity."
His eyes soften even more. "It's not pity. It's understanding."
"And pity," I insist.
We stare at each other across the room, an entire history of friendship and scarred skin.
He shakes his head slowly. "You walked in shaking."
"I'm not shaking."
"You're pale."
"I'm cold."
"You're lying."
The words lash through me. I lift my chin. "I'm fine."
He studies me, unblinking. "Are you?"
The question hits me in a place I avoid at all costs. My throat tightens. "I don't need you to worry. I need you to trust I'm fine."
He replies, "I'm allowed to check on the people I care about."
"Don't say it like that," I breathe.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm breakable."
The room goes still.
"You survived the Scarlet Hour." His voice drops, low and reverent in a way that makes my skin crawl. "You aren't breakable. But you're hurting."
My stomach knots. My voice cracks. "Just stop."
A long, heavy silence settles between us. It's thick enough to choke on.
I pull myself upright, drawing every shard of dignity back into place.
