He stands and takes up his position again, body angled protectively but without touching me. “We’ll talk later,” he adds. “About reactions.”
“Are you mad?”
“No,” he says. “I’m informed.”
Okay. Whatever that means.
I sit there afterward, my skin still buzzing where Sting’s hand had been, the echo of his grip pleasantly lingering in a way I wouldn’t dare let Armen see.
29
ARMEN
I keepVi where I put her.
The recess is shallow, just enough to break the line of sight from the main corridor. Not hidden. Hidden gets noticed. This spot is boring. It looks like storage. It looks like nothing.
She sits exactly the way I told her to. Shoulders back enough to breathe. Chin level. Eyes forward. Her wrists are still bound behind the chair, rope cinched tight enough that she can’t get clever without making noise. Her knee is swollen under the fabric, the joint stiffening the longer she stays still.
She looks like she’s trying not to look like prey.
That effort is the only reason I don’t move her again.
A few people pass the opening and glance in. They keep walking when they see me. That part is predictable. I designed it that way.
Vi’s gaze stays fixed on the wall in front of her. I can tell she wants to turn her head. I can tell she’s fighting it. The muscle along her jaw jumps once, then stills.
I hear Rogue before I see him.
His footsteps have a rhythm I recognize, easy, unhurried, like he’s never worried about where he’s going or who he’ll run into. He appears at the mouth of the passage and pauses, one hand resting on the wall as if he’s considering whether to step fully in.
Half-skeleton mask, just like Sting’s and mine. He tilts his head slightly, looking past me to Vi.
“Seems cozy,” he says.
“It’s temporary,” I answer.
Rogue’s gaze flicks to me. “Temporary is doing a lot of work down here.”
Always the smart-ass.
He takes a step closer anyway, enough that he can see Vi clearly. Vi doesn’t look at him. I watch her throat move when she swallows.
Rogue’s voice drops, casual. “She always like this? Quiet when she’s cornered?”
“She’s not cornered,” I say.
Rogue hums like he’s amused. “Sure.”
He steps into the recess, not close enough to touch her but close enough that he’s occupying the same pocket of air. He glances at the rope around her wrists, then at her knee.
“That looks like it hurts,” he says to her. “Your knee.”
Vi doesn’t answer.
Rogue waits a beat, then shrugs. “Okay. So this is how we’re doing it.”
“Rogue,” I warn.
