She was wearing dark blue today, a blouse that made her eyes look more amber than whiskey. Her hair was pulled back the same way, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She looked composed, professional, completely unruffled.
I wanted to ruffle her.
"Dr. Walsh." I stood, summoning my best smile. "Miss me?"
"I try not to miss patients between sessions. It's unprofessional." She stepped aside, gesturing me in. "Shall we?"
I walked past her into the office, close enough to catch her scent—something clean and faintly floral—and felt that pull in my chest again. Stronger this time. Harder to ignore.
She closed the door behind me, and we were alone.
"So," she said, settling into her chair with that same calm composure. "How was your week?"
I took the seat across from her, meeting her eyes, and told the truth for once.
"Long."
Chapter 4 - Keira
"Long."
One word, but he said it like it meant something. His eyes held mine, and I had the uncomfortable sensation that he was seeing more than I wanted him to see.
I kept my face neutral. "Long how?"
"The usual ways. Meetings. Deals. Family obligations." He shifted in the chair, and I noticed what I'd noticed last week—the way he held himself, the constant low-grade alertness of a man who never fully relaxed. "My brother came to visit."
"Which brother?"
"The youngest. Kirill."
I made a note, though I remembered perfectly well from last week. He'd mentioned siblings—a brother in Chicago, another in Boston, a sister. A family that sounded more like a corporation than a household.
"Are you close with Kirill?"
"Define close."
"Do you talk? Confide in each other? Spend time together outside of obligations?"
He considered the question longer than I expected. Most patients answered reflexively, giving me the version of their relationships they wanted to believe in. He seemed to be actually thinking about it.
"Kirill doesn't confide," he said finally. "He observes. Catalogs. Files things away for later. Talking to him is like talking to a vault—everything goes in, nothing comes out."
"That sounds frustrating."
"It should be." He paused. "It isn't. With Kirill, I don't have to perform. He already sees through the bullshit, so there's no point in trying."
I leaned forward slightly. This was more than he'd given me last week—more honest, more unguarded. "You feel like you have to perform with other people?"
The mask flickered. Just for a second, something raw underneath. Then the smile was back, easy and deflecting.
"Doesn't everyone?"
"I'm asking about you."
"And I'm deflecting. Isn't that what we established last week?"
"We established that you're good at it. That doesn't mean you have to keep doing it."
