I stifled the urge to shut the door.
“I came to see if you’d jumped,” he said, grinning.
That tone. It was so at odds with the last time I saw him in the Citizens’ Audience, staring over the spot where he ruthlessly bled that man. I didn’t dare to ask what had been done to him.
“What do you want?”
“It feels like it’s cold in there.” He looked over my head to the open window.
“I like it,” I answered, feeling the frustration prickle in my voice.
Can he smell the flower in my room?
He couldn’t come any closer. I couldn’t risk it.
He only nodded, his lower lip pushing upward, surprised and at the same time uninterested. “You didn’t come to dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lied, wishing he wouldn’t notice the swelling beneath my eyes.
“I was hoping we could talk about your situation,” he said.
I stayed in the doorway, my back against the frame, waiting.
“You’re worried about your family. When I said that we should take care of it, I didn’t mean what you think.”
He paused, and I nodded for him to continue.
“We can be very persuasive,” he said, measuring his words. “We can influence the human mind. We can convince your family not to worry about you. You only need to think of a reason why you won’t come back home for now, and we’ll help them believe it.”
“Help them believe it?” I repeated, smothering the chill down my spine.
“It doesn’t hurt them,” he said quickly, brushing the thought aside. “Finnegan would give them something to drink. It makes people more suggestible.”
When I didn’t respond, he added, “It’s harmless. A draught, that’s all.”
My breath stilled. “No.”
He held my gaze, unblinking.
“My answer is no. I won’t let you poison my family.”
“It’s not poison. Would you rather they come after you and end up like you almost did?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want him to know I planned to be out of this place before my family would even try to look for me.
“Listen, I don’t care what story we feed your family. I’m giving you a choice here, but if you don’t make one, we’ll make one for you. Is that what you want?”
He clicked his tongue, and my arms dropped to my sides.
“So,” Reagan said, “come up with something convincing. Make it good enough that they don’t come looking.”
The threat sat clear in his words; he carried it without raising his voice.
Heat gathered in my chest.
“You’re loathsome,” I said.
Reckless.I corrected myself silently. Not because I believed my insult would make him kinder, but because the truth was, I had no real leverage. I had to filter myself, keep my reactions controlled, or this would get worse.
