The knife came down. Again. Again.
Behind me, I heard Turnip shift by the hearth. The heavy shuffle of his bulk moving from one spot to another. When I glanced over, he’d repositioned himself near the far wall, leaving a wide empty space between the hearth and the table.
Leaving room.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
Turnip huffed and closed his eyes.
I crossed to the window, abandoning the vegetables. Checked the perimeter because that was something to do, something that made sense, something that didn’t involve thinking about the man in the doorway and the way his eyes followed me across the room.
The fields were quiet. Nothing moved in the grass. The traps lay hidden, waiting.
“You check the perimeter obsessively,” he said.
“Someone has to.”
“You checked it three minutes ago.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was watching.”
I pressed my forehead against the glass. Cool against my skin. Grounding.
“You’re always watching,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t that get exhausting?”
“Sometimes.”
I heard him move. Floorboards creaking under his weight. Coming closer.
“You’re different,” I said, not turning. “From what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Someone colder. Someone who treated this like a job and nothing else.” I traced a crack in the window glass with my finger. “You care. About the mission. About the farm. About...”
I stopped.
“About?” His voice was closer now. Behind me. Near enough that I could feel the warmth of him through my shirt.
“Never mind.”
“You stopped yourself.” I could hear the faint smile in his voice. “You do that a lot.”
“Maybe I have good reasons.”
“Maybe you’re afraid of what you might say.”
I turned.
He was right there. So close I caught the individual threads of color in his red eyes, the lighter striations where crimson shiftedtoward something warmer. Close enough that I could smell him, gunpowder and metal and something underneath that was just him.
“Torek used to say something,” I said. “Patience costs nothing and gains everything.”
