Entering the bath, I peel the gown from my skin slowly. It pools on the floor like something shed. In the mirror, I look smaller without elevation. Barefoot. Hair wild from rotor wash. Makeup slightly smudged at the edges.
I step into the shower and let heat return to my hands. I hurry and stay within the time limit. Once I’m out, I listen. In the living area, I can hear him moving. Cabinets opening. Water running in the sink. Wood shifting in the fire.
He is not pacing back and forth and really has not interrogated me. He hasn’t even pressed hard. He’s securing my position … and his too. That matters more than he could know. I just hope it’s enough.
When I return wrapped in borrowed flannel and thick socks, he is standing near the window, phone in hand, speaking low into his comm.
“… temporary hold. No external contact until I confirm.”
Pause.
“Yes. I’m aware.”
Pause.
“I’ll assess.”
He ends the call before I step fully into the room. His eyes move over me once, not really lingering, just registering that I’m a little different than I appeared a couple of hours ago.
The oversized flannel swallows my frame. The sleeves cover half my hands.
“You look warmer,” he says.
“That was the goal.”
He hands me a protein bar without ceremony. I accept it. The fire cracks behind us. He studies me the way he did in the corridor — like he’s mapping something he hasn’t seen before.
“You weren’t surprised,” he says finally.
“About what?”
“The helicopter.”
I don’t answer. His gaze doesn’t soften.
“Someone promised you protection,” he continues. “That wasn’t my team’s idea.”
“I was promised I wouldn’t be alone tonight,” I say evenly.
“And you trusted that?”
“No,” I reply. “I calculated it.”
Something in his expression tightens. He’s beginning to see it.
He knows I’m not a frightened client, though maybe I should be.
The fire pops as the wind pushes against the cabin walls. And in the quiet of the mountains, with silk replaced by flannel and diamonds replaced by kindling, the illusion has thinned.
He doesn’t know what I am. He doesn’t know what I’m carrying into this place. But he’s starting to suspect that the ballroom wasn’t the most dangerous room tonight.
This one has no exits.
Chapter 5
Katerina
The fire has burned down to embers when the first howl rises. High-pitched. Long. Close enough to feel in my bones. My eyes open before I realize I was asleep.
