“You don’t know him and I well enough to say that’s possible.”
I tilt my head at him. “I don’t have to know you. I watch and notice things, which I’m sure he’s told you by now. Politician’s daughter and all, I had to learn that skill real quick.”
He pushes off the wall, taking a few steps toward me.
“And what else have you noticed?” he asks.
“That he talks to you like you’re a toddler,” I say. “Not a partner. That he tells you what to do, and doesn’t tell you what’s actually happening. And that every time he’s questioning me, you don’t step in because you worry about him correcting you.”
His jaw flexes.
“You hesitate,” I continue. “And for someone in your line of work, that’s very surprising.”
He takes the last few steps to be in front of me and crouches down, forearms braced against his thighs. We are close enough now that I can see the faint shadows under his eyes. Lack of sleep probably. We’ve been here for a few days now and I have barely slept myself.
“Youthink you’re clever,” he says quietly.
“I think you’re curious if I’m right,” I counter. “And that scares you just a bit.”
His hand lifts, fingers brushing the zip-ties at my wrist. I am not sure if he is testing boundaries to see if I’ll flinch away from him or give in.
I definitely don’t flinch away, but I still make sure the smallest bit of fear shows in the rest of my body language.
Our eyes fight to win dominance. His baby blues bore into mine, seemingly unafraid.
As his fingers drift from the zip-ties and down to my skin, they softly run down the side of my hand. But the feeling of his hand on mine disappears as he stands abruptly, turning away like the air between us has become poison.
He drags a hand over the top of his head, as if he were pushing hair out of his face. He then starts to pace back and forth.
“You think you’re the first person to try this?” he says.
“To try what?” I stutter out, still in shock about the weird feeling that settles in my chest.
“The first to try and wedge us apart.”
“I think I’m the first one who didn’t have to try,” I shoot back.
He stops pacing and turns to face me again.
Somewhere in the building, metal groans from the heavy winter winds outside and time seems to stretch for a long period.
“You talk too much,” he says.
He doesn’t sound angry. He just seems exhausted from the back and forth. Which is funny since I feel like I could do this all night, even with the lack of sleep.
“That’s funny,” I murmur. “You’re the one still standing here letting me talk. Don’t you guys have a roll of tape somewhere in this creepy ass place?”
His eyes flick to the door, then back to me.
He for sure thought about it.
“You think this results in your happy ending?” he asks.
“I think everything ends,” I reply. “Endings are inevitable.”
Before he can reply, footsteps echo faintly outside the room.
Finnic straightens instantly, every trace of vulnerability snapping shut like a trap. He opens the door just as Dante’s steps near even closer.
