“I think it does.”
I look at him. He looks at me. Outside, the mountain is doing whatever mountains do at this hour—existing, indifferent—and in here it’s just the two of us and a thousand questions I need answers for.
“You slept well.” It’s not a question.
I push off the wall. “I did. First time since you took me I actually fucking slept.”
“You were tired.”
“I’ve been tired every night. Last night was different. That room. This house.” I pause. “I want to know.”
“Know what?”
“Why it feels like mine.”
He holds my gaze, and I can see the answers in the blue depths of his eyes. If I can just reach…
“How do you know me, Reth?”
“I don’t.”
“Don’t lie to me. It’s insulting, and you’re smarter than that.” I pull the lollipop from where I tucked it into my sleeve and hold it up between us. “You keep leaving them for me to find. Why?”
He glances at it like it’s insignificant. “In case you get a sugar craving.”
“You might not have noticed, but I’m in no mood for your bullshit this morning.”
Something hardens in his gaze. “If this is what a good night’s rest does to you, feel free to sleep on the fucking floor tonight.”
Despite everything, something in me wants to laugh, but I don’t let it. “You lit the fireplace before I even decided to go upstairs. You knew I would.”
“I hoped you might.”
“Who are you to me?” The question comes out quieter than I intend. “Because you don’t feel like a stranger. You feel like someone who has been on the edges of my life for a long time, and I just couldn’t see you.”
“Sophia—”
“And then there’s that. The way you say my name, like you’ve been saying it for years.” I watch his profile. The crease between his brows. The way his eyes pierce through me, like he knows I’m close and wants me to figure it out. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? You do know me. Not casually. Not the way you know someone you’ve just met. The way you know someone you’ve studied. Someone you’ve?—”
And then it lands, the full weight of something that’s no longer suspicion, but certainty, arriving all at once, rearranging everything.
His chin lifts slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if he’s been waiting for this penny to drop for a real long time.
“You know I bake when I’m falling apart.” My voice has gone strange. Flat. Clinical. The voice I use when I’m processing something I’m trying to make sense of. “You know my favoritepastry. The flowers I like. The temperature I prefer. Even the bedroom?—”
“What about it?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You built that room out of…out ofsomethingI can’t explain, but it’s mine, and you knew it would be.” I look at him directly, no longer searching for an answer. “You’ve been watching me.”
He tilts his head to the side, keeping it low, staring at me from under dark lashes. “You’re the expert. You tell me what it is you’re describing.”
I open my mouth. Close it. And he starts moving. Slowly. Deliberately. Each step closing the distance between us and I find myself stepping back without deciding to, my professional brain screamingdon’t let him control the geographywhile the rest of me is very aware of how small this room is.
“Put a label on it, Sophia.” His voice has an edge now. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Label things. Label people. Slot them into neatly arranged categories so you know what your next move should be.”
My back finds the wall. “How long?”
“How long what?” He tilts his head. Waiting. He wants me to say it, but I don’t. Beneath the chills, there’s a flicker of defiance, a piece of me that refuses to play.
