“And irritated,” he adds.
I hold his stare. “What gave it away?”
He leans back a fraction, like he’s amused by me, familiar.
“Your mouth,” he says simply. “It’s trained to be polite. But it wants to bite.”
A chill runs under my skin at how accurate that is.
I swallow it down.
Because biting has consequences. And I can’t afford consequences yet.
I glance toward the hallway for half a heartbeat. I need to go.
My phone burns in my pocket. Gabriel is waiting.
Vaska notices the glance anyway. His eyes follow mine, then return.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, voice still calm.
Not a threat. A fact.
My fingers curl against my thigh, slow enough no one else sees it.
I look at him again, steady. “Am I being watched?”
Vaska’s smile is thin. Knowing.
“Yes,” he says. Then he adds, as if he’s giving me a gift— “By more than one person.”
My pulse trips.
Because that means cameras. That means eyes in the walls. That means even my pocket could be a confession if I’m careless.
I keep my face blank anyway. Keep my spine straight. Keep my breathing even.
Vaska reaches forward and sets his gun on the coffee table between us.
Placed down like an offering of safety. Like he’s telling me, he could be kind if he wanted to be.
I don’t touch it. I don’t trust whatever test this is.
Vaska watches me not touch it and gives a quiet huff, like he expected that too.
Then he settles fully into his chair, gaze locked on mine, and for the first time it feels like the room around us falls away.
It’s just me.
And him.
In a house that belongs to a man who calls me Beda like I’m his, but refuses to touch me.
Vaska’s voice drops even lower.
“So,” he says, calm as a blade. “What do you like to do for fun?”
“Fun?”
