And a feeling in his chest like he’d finally come home.
He stood in the doorway, struck dumb by the ghosts of their shared past, and scratched at his left pectoral.
“Close the door,” Mireille said, not looking up from her game. “You’re letting the heat out.”
Ronin did as she’d asked, then turned toward his room.
“Did you find anything?” she asked quietly.
“How did you?—”
“Cassandra told me.” She took a sip from her mug.
“No. Nothing useful.”
“I’m sorry.”
And either she was the world’s greatest actress—a remnant of her days as a spy for Imperial Affairs in the Northern Territories—or the sympathy in her tone was genuine.
“What are you drinking?” he asked, ambling over to the table.
“Vodka.”
“Out of a chipped ceramic mug? Classy.”
“Yes, etiquette is our chief concern here in Tartarus.” She caught his gaze and the teasing smirk on her face raked nails across his heart. “Do you want some?”
He heard the subcontext.
Do you want to talk about it?
“I…”
He shouldn’t. Hecouldn’t. Cold indifference. That’s what he’d promised himself.
It was the only way to survive her again.
His wolf whined and tore at his insides, making his opinion on Mireille’s offer really fucking clear.
Ronin shook his head and turned down the hall. Behind him, Mireille let out a ragged sigh.
Before he entered his bedroom, he said over his shoulder. “You still play.”
It wasn’t a question, but Creator, it felt like one.
“I play every night after I’m done in the shop,” she said.
“When do you dance?”
“I don’t. Not anymore.”
The admission sliced deeper than her teasing. She’d been so skilled—the most talented dancer in Kheimos. In all of Ethyrios, really. Not to mention, she’d loved it. So much that shehadn’t given it up even when her assignments with the IA had monopolized her time. Why would she give it up now, when time was her most abundant resource?
He wanted to ask, but was too tired, too anxious.
Too cowardly.
It was probably his fault. All of this was. Mireille’s incarceration, Selene’s arrest, Cassandra’s training failures, and?—
