“And your parents,” he says. “They died when you were eleven, correct?”
Nova goes rigid.
“That’s in whatever file you have,” she says. Her voice has gone cold. “You already know the answer.”
“I know what the records say. I’m asking what you remember.”
“I don’t remember much.”
“Nothing at all?”
“I was eleven. It was traumatic. Things are fuzzy.” Each word is clipped. Controlled. “Is there a point to this?”
Laith leans back in his chair. Still smiling that empty smile.
“Just trying to understand how a child survives alone for fifteen years without any intervention. Without any support system. Without—” his eyes drop to her wrists again, “—any mark at all.”
“I was careful.”
“You were remarkable.”
Again, it sounds like praise. Again, it’s not.
Nova’s temperature is climbing despite my hand on her arm. I press harder, trying to draw more heat, and her jaw tightens.
“I think we’re done,” Locke says.
Laith doesn’t look at him. “I’ll decide when we’re done.”
“You said this was a conversation. Conversations are voluntary.”
“Are they?” Laith’s smile sharpens. “I don’t recall saying it was voluntary.”
The room goes cold. Not temperature — atmosphere.
Vaelor shifts in his seat. Rane’s hand twitches toward his hair — stops himself. Beckett is watching Laith with an expression I’ve never seen on him before.
And Nova—
Nova is burning up.
I can feel it now, really feel it — heat pouring off her in waves, soaking into my hand, more than I can absorb. Sweat is beading at her temples. Her skin is flushed. If this goes on much longer, everyone in this room is going to notice something is very, very wrong.
“We need a break,” I say.
Laith’s eyes cut to me. “Excuse me?”
“A break. Five minutes. Unless you want her passing out in your interrogation room.”
I don’t bother pretending this isn’t what it is.
His gaze drops to my hand on Nova’s arm. To her flushed face. To the way she’s breathing too fast.
Something flickers in his expression. Interest. The kind I don’t like.
“Of course,” he says smoothly. “Take all the time you need.”
He stands. Buttons his jacket. Walks to the door.
