Bane leads me to the foyer. Away from the living room. Away from Margot.
He crosses his arms. The movement makes his biceps flex. He's bigger than I am. Stronger. Could break me without trying. "I wanted to apologize."
I wait.
"For what I said at dinner. The first night." He doesn't look at me. His eyes are fixed somewhere over my left shoulder. Coward. "It was out of line."
The words are right. The tone is wrong.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay?"
"You apologized. I heard you. Is that all?"
His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps in his cheek. His hands curl into fists at his sides. "You're not going to say anything?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. Thank you? It's fine? Something?"
I stare at him.
He doesn't mean it. The apology. It's performative. Probably something Richard or Margot asked him to do.
Just like Atlas's careful politeness. Just like Zero's—
The headache spikes. So sudden and vicious I gasp. My hand flies to my temple, fingers digging into the spot where the pain is worst.
"Are you even listening to me?" Bane asks.
"Yeah."
"You don't look like you're listening."
"I'm listening."
"Then what did I just say?"
I blink. Try to focus. But his face keeps sliding in and out of clarity. Sharp, then blurred, then sharp again.
"You... apologized."
"Before that."
I don't remember.
The words are gone. Lost in the static filling my head.
The room tilts. Just slightly. My vision blurs at the edges. Everything's too bright. Too loud. The chandelier above us is like staring into the sun.
"Forget it," Bane says, voice tight. "This was a waste of time."
"You think?" The words come out sharper than I mean them to. But I'm too tired to care. Too sick to filter. "Your apology is as fake as you are."
His eyes narrow. Hazel going hard and cold. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I'm dizzy now. Unsteady. I lean against the wall—cool plaster against my shoulder blade—and try to stay upright. But I can't stop. "You don't mean it. None of you do. You're all the same. Fake. Used to getting whatever the hell you want."
