"You're saying I could work? From here?"
"Yes."
"Under guard?"
"Yes."
"Without leaving the grounds?"
"For now." I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away. She doesn't. I take her hand. "Until we find Gabe and neutralize the threat. But yes, you could work. Have something that's yours. Build a business if you want."
She's looking at our joined hands like she doesn't quite believe they're real.
"Why?" she asks. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you're not my prisoner, Sera. You're my wife. And I want—" I stop. Force myself to be honest. "I want you to be more than miserable."
"You want me happy?"
"Yes."
A small, sad smile crosses her face. "And you think this will make me happy?"
"No. But it's a start."
She's quiet for a long time. I can see her thinking. Deciding whether to trust this. Trust me.
"I want my restoration tools," she says finally. "From my apartment. And my personal books. There are three on my nightstand that I was reading."
"Done."
"And I want to be able to call Mr. Bolinger. My old boss. Let him know I'm okay."
"I can arrange that."
"And—" She hesitates. "And I want you to have dinner with me. Here. Not in your office. Not at some family obligation. Just—us."
Something in my chest loosens.
"Tonight?"
"Tonight."
"Okay."
We sit there for a moment. Her hand still in mine. It's not forgiveness. It's not love. But it's something.
"Adrian?"
"Yes?"
"Don't make promises you can't keep." Her eyes meet mine. Serious. "If you're going to do this—if you're going to try to make this bearable—then actually do it. Don't just say you will and then go back to ignoring me."
"I won't."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
