The guarded expression returned immediately, her shoulders tensing. "Does it matter?"
"Perhaps not." He cut a piece of meat, giving her space to decide whether to answer. "I'm simply curious about the person I'll be working with."
She was quiet for a moment, absently tracing the rim of her wine glass. He could see her weighing whether to share. The candlelight caught on the glass and on the delicate bone-flower carvings in the panel behind her.
"I never planned to become a thief,” she said finally.
“People rarely do,” he said. "What changed?"
"My family died." The words were flat, devoid of emotion. "What about you? Were you born to be the Death Lord of despair and terror?"
The deflection was skillfully done, turning his curiosity back on him. He found himself almost admiring the technique.
"In a manner of speaking," he said. "My nature was evident from an early age."
"Your nature?"
He hesitated. There was too much to explain, and most of it shewasn't ready to hear. The whole truth about what he was, what he could do, and the reasons why isolation wasn't merely a preference but a necessity.
"I am what I am," he said instead. "The title 'Reaper' isn't ceremonial."
She studied his face, and he had the uncomfortable sense that she was seeing more than he intended to reveal.
"Is that why you live like this?" she asked quietly. "All the distance, the isolation, the way everyone fears to get too close?"
His voice went flat. "It's safer for everyone."
"Safer for them, maybe. What about for you?"
The question caught him off guard. No one asked about his safety, his well-being. They worried about protecting themselves from him, as they should. The idea that isolation might cost him something beyond loneliness had never factored into anyone's considerations.
Including, until recently, his own.
He turned his wine glass slowly, studying her across the table. She looked curious, not judgmental. As if she wanted to understand rather than condemn.
Reckless. That kind of interest could lead him to places he couldn’t allow himself to go.
"Safety is relative," he said finally.
"So is loneliness."
His grip tightened on his wine glass, and his shadows drew tighter around his chair. She had no right to see that clearly, to name things he'd spent a lifetime refusing to acknowledge.
"Is that what you think this is?" he asked, his voice neutral. "Loneliness?"
"I think," she said, taking a sip of wine before continuing, "that you've spent so long protecting everyone from what you are that you've forgotten what it might be like to have someone who doesn't need protecting."
He found himself watching her across the table. She waited for his response with that same patience she'd shown during the crisis, willing to hear whatever he said next without flinching from what he might reveal.
"Tomorrow," he said, shifting back to safer ground, "we'll begin with basic magical theory. You'll need to understand how different types of death magic interact before we attempt any field work."
"Field work?"
"Visiting the other compromised sites. Testing your abilities on ward-locks that aren't conveniently located in my palace." He leaned back in his chair, studying her reaction. "Are you having second thoughts about our alliance?"
"No," she said without hesitation. "I'm just trying to understand what I've gotten myself into."
"Something dangerous," he said honestly. "Something that will likely get more dangerous before it's resolved."
