He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens, eyes flicking over me like he’s checking for something. “Did something happen today?” he asks.
I blink. “What?”
“At work,” he clarifies. “Anything unusual.”
I feel myself frowning slightly. “No, why?”
Another too long and too deliberate silence. Something pricks at the back of my mind. He’s trying to change the subject. “Alex,” I ease out, slower now, “what’s going on?”
He exhales like he’s letting go of something big then runs a hand through his hair. “I need you to follow some protocols.”
I stare at him. “…What?” Why is he saying this? Of course I follow protocols.
“Safety protocols,” he continues. “Effective immediately.”
There are a few seconds where my brain just doesn’t process that. I follow the safety protocols I’m expected to. Of course I do. So why doesn’t he think I do? Has he heard something?
“No.” The word comes out flat and automatic.
His brow furrows. “Liv-”
“No,” I repeat, sharper this time. “You don’t get to drop that on me without explaining why.”
“Iamexplaining-”
“No, you’re not,” I butt in. “You’re giving orders.”
His jaw squares. “I’m not giving orders.”
“Then what would you call it?” I shoot back.
“A request based on real risk,” he says, his voice lower now.
How controlled his voice is just makes it worse.
“Then treat me like I’m part of the situation,” I snap. “Not something you need to manage.”
The room becomes silent, heavy, and charged. Because there it is, he’s been acting like I’m something to monitor.
I cross my arms, holding his gaze. “You’ve been doing this since I got here,” I continue. “Watching everything, decidingthings, not telling me half of what’s going on. I left my home, came out here, somewhere that I’mmassivelyout of my comfort zone in because you told me to and then won’t tell me anything more.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” I push. “You keep saying ‘it’s the case’ like that’s supposed to explain everything, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.”
His expression hardens slightly. “Youarepart of the case.”
His words hit so wrong, so cold and clinical, that it makes me flinch before I can stop myself. “Wow,” I say quietly. “That’s… good to know.”
“That’s not what I meant-”
“No?” I break in. “Because that’s exactly how it sounded.” I turn away, pacing once before turning back to him. “You don’t get to reduce me to a variable because it makes your job easier.” Not after what we’ve been through together, what we’vedonetogether. I don’t want to be the sappy kind of woman falling for a guy and thinking we’ll be more just because we slept together.
“It doesn’t make anything easier,” he snaps, frustration breaking through finally. Or maybe he just read my mind. “It makes it harder. Everything about this makes it harder.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re shutting me out?” I demand. Because that’s what it feels like, like there’s a wall between us now, and I don’t know when it got there. Or why.
“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says.
