“Twenty-one.”
“Where do you live?”
I laugh. Actually laugh.
“Are you serious? You know where I live. It’s on my resume. It’s on my paperwork. It’s in the system. Your boss knows it. What is this?”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Answer the question.”
I lean back in the chair and let it rock again.
Forward.
Back.
Forward.
“Is this an interrogation?” I ask lightly. “Is that why everything’s so weirdly cold in here? Do you do this often? Bring the bakery girls into your stainless steel dungeon kitchen and ask them about their resumes?”
The flicker returns to the light for half a second.
Vaska’s fingers tap once against the metal table.
Sharp.
“You think this is funny?”
I meet his eyes directly.
“Yes.”
That throws him.
Just slightly.Enough.Because I know what this is.
Maksim doesn’t trust me and Vaska is here to test the cracks. He wants to see if I’ll slip. He wants to see if I’ll sweat.
My chair squeaks.
“If you’re going to interrogate me,” I add casually, “at least fix the chair. It’s very distracting.”
His jaw flexes. “Stop moving.”
“Then ask better questions.”
Silence stretches.
Thick. He leans forward slightly.
“What aren’t you telling him?”
There it is.
I smile.
“Who?”
He doesn’t answer. We both know who.
