He gives a small nod. “Yeah.”
The word catches my attention more than it should.
“Do you ever actually get time away from all this?” I ask. “Or does it follow you everywhere?”
His eyes drop to the mug in my hands. He doesn’t answer right away.
“I’m not used to this,” I add, keeping my voice steady. “I don’t know how to talk to someone when every word feels like it’s being weighed.”
He looks back up. “That’s not what this is. I told you the only thing I expect of you is for you to stay put with no trouble. What happened?—”
He stops short of whatever he was going to say. My mind races to find something to ease the tension. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m accusing him of something, or to encourage the wall to go back up.
“Maybe you need a break,” I add. “Even a short one.”
“That’s not an option,” he says. “Not lately. Your father made sure of that.”
I lift my chin. “You know my father?”
He shrugs noncommittally.
“So we are connected,” I say. I let the thought sit without pressing it. Whatever this is, I can tell it’s not something he plans to explain to me yet.
His gaze lifts again, steady and searching, as if he’s reassessing something he didn’t expect to. The look holds for a second longer than necessary.
“Yeah,” he says as he turns back toward the door.
I take that for what it is. “I appreciate the coffee. And the company. Even under the circumstances.”
He hesitates in the doorway, his hand resting against the wood. “Sure.”
Then he steps out and closes the door behind him.
The quiet stretches. Minutes blur into hours.
I deal myself another hand of solitaire on the bed, stacking and reshuffling until the rules stop mattering and I’m just moving cards to give my hands something to do.
I stand and stretch before walking to the window. Iwatch the light shift outside as clouds pass slowly enough to count.
I’m staring into the whiteness when the door swings open without warning.
He steps in, and the air in the room changes immediately. His expression is controlled, but something about his eyes is sharper than before. Whatever it is, he locks it down fast.
“We’re leaving,” he says.
The words land with a finality. My body stills as my mind scrambles to catch up.
He watches me closely, measuring my reaction. After a moment, he adds, “I need to cuff you, and your face will be covered. Just for the drive, until we’re back in the city.”
My instincts flare, sharp and immediate, but I force them down. Fighting won’t help me here. I nod once. “Fine.”
His brow lifts slightly, like he expected more resistance.
“I’ll make sure you’re comfortable at the next stop,” he says.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cuffs. There’s a brief pause before he steps closer. When his fingers close around my wrist, his touch is careful and deliberate, not hurried.
He hesitates, then adjusts the cuff so it doesn’t bite quite so hard. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed.
