Giulio leans back. “There. That word again.”
“Use a better one,” I say.
He cocks his head to one side. “Unresolved.”
“No.”
“Liability.”
“Partial.”
“Witness.”
“No.”
A small smirk crosses his lips. “Bait?”
The room shifts. Satisfaction sits behind Giulio’s eyes. He thinks the word will force reaction.
It doesn’t.
“If she were bait,” I say, “you would know what I intended to catch.”
His smile fades. “Do we?”
“No.”
That holds the room for a moment.
He presses, “The Irish girl is still here. The marriage contract is suspended. Her uncle has attempted extraction and failed. Your son remains away. Brennan territory watches. Our council fields questions without answers.”
“Yes,” I reply.
“So answer.”
“No.”
A pause. There’s the edge again. But the room no longer retreats from it as quickly.
That’s the third shift.
Authority erodes first in timing. Not in defiance. In the delay before obedience resumes.
Giulio sees it. Of course he does. “She cannot remain indefinitely as neither guest nor family,” he says.
“She won’t,” I say.
“When does that change?”
I close my eyes. “When I decide.”
“And until then?”
“She remains contained.”
Giulio’s hand rests on the table. “Contained women don’t unsettle households.”
“No?”
