Lina.
I fold my arms, trying for defiance and hoping it covers the fact that he still makes me feel like I’m one wrong breath away from disaster. “People refusing to answer only makes it more suspicious, you know.”
His jaw tightens. “Curiosity is not always a good survival instinct.”
“And secrecy is not exactly reassuring.”
The room goes still.
For a second all I can hear is the faint drip of coffee off the counter and my own pulse in my ears. He looks tired suddenly. Not weak. Never that. Just worn in a way I don’t usually get to see.
“You should let this go, Zatanna.”
I hate how quietly he says it. Like he means it. Like he’s trying to spare me.
“No,” I say before I can stop myself.
One brow lifts. “No?”
“No.” I set the ruined napkins down and meet his gaze. “You don’t get to tell me my life is in danger, ignore me for a full day, and then expect me not to ask questions.”
His mouth flattens. “That’s exactly what I expect.”
I let out a disbelieving breath. “Unbelievable.”
He takes one step closer. “Danger doesn’t become less dangerous because you want answers.”
“And I don’t become less confused because you keep acting like I’m too fragile to know the truth.”
Something flashes in his face then. Not anger exactly. Something closer to frustration. “You think this is about fragility?”
“What is it about, then?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he looks at my hand, at the faint red mark on my wrist from the spilled coffee. His expression changes again, softening just enough to make my stomach twist. Without asking, he reaches for my hand.
I go still.
His fingers close around my wrist, careful this time, and turn it slightly toward the light. His thumb brushes just beneath the burn, not touching the sore spot itself.
“It’s not bad,” he says quietly.
I stare at him.
This man is impossible. Completely impossible.
“You ignore me all day,” I say, voice lower now, “and then you come in here and act concerned because I spilled coffee?”
His gaze lifts to mine. “I was concerned before the coffee.”
The words hit me square in the chest. I hate that they do. I hate even more that I believe him.
He lets go of my wrist slowly, like he’s aware of every second of contact. “You need to stop asking questions about me.”
I laugh once, softly, because of course he’d say that right after making my pulse go feral. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is if you want to stay safe.”
