“Hmm.” Without further comment, he sets the pills down and moves on.
Behind my back, I clench my hands in my dress. I’m not sure how much of this methodical unraveling of my life I can handle.
He rummages until he finds my house key, alone but for a bunch of broken or handmade keychains. Next comes a purple popsicle stick one of my students in guided meditation for underprivileged kids gifted me. He rolls the thin wood between his fingers, then sets it aside.
He holds up a cloth sachet. Sniffs. “What’s this?”
I exhale slowly. The tension in my spine could string a bow. “Herbal tea. My best friend gave it to me to try the other day.”
Sharp eyes glance up at me. “The woman on your fridge.”
My stomach clenches, a ball of steel wool scraping my insides.
He noticed those pictures. Noticed Ashley’s face and name.
What else did he pick up on without me realizing?
He doesn’t comment on the tea anymore.
I try to relax. I can’t let him get under my skin.
But every gesture, every object, every detail he scrutinizes, strips one more layer away, grinding me down into a list of consumables, a file of habits and weaknesses.
Except I am more than what I carry.
Intent to show him that this interrogation doesn’t bother me, I allow my gaze to wander. Everywhere I look, I find hard lines. The room, his jaw, the furniture, the movement of his hands. Everything reeks of money and power.
I picture my vision board at home. The images I cut and glued together. I’d expected a professional boost, a powerful mentor, someone to help lift my business out of its slow death spiral.
But instead, I manifested this guy.
Cold, awe-pure horror sweeps through me.
The universe listened and gave me exactly what I asked for.
A shark.
An absurd thought. But true.
He glides like a predator, all coiled potential and deadly precision. His pale eyes track motion with unnerving focus. His very presence disturbs the atmosphere of a room, like a current of danger flowing beneath deceptively calm waters.
I need to remember not to thrash or splash, as that attracts them and sets off their predator drive. I’ve always heard sharks sense distress, blood in the water. They respond to panic with aggression.
So I stand very still, breathing evenly, as he continues his inventory of me.
Chapter 7
Kirill
Anyone else would have buckled by now while I dissected their life. They’d start begging or spinning frantic rationalizations or tossing out explanations.
Not Jordan.
She just stands still, calm as a dark lake, every muscle at rest.
That rankles. Wallets and purses hold personal, intimate things. No one wants that rummaged through and examined.
But this woman? She holds steady as I rifle through her threadbare collection. She’s not defiant, just…anchored. Unmoved.
