Fixing me with a sharp look, clearly unimpressed, he murmurs, “You done?”
“Not even close.”
“Then get to the point,” he urges me, starting to look like he wishes he had never brought me here in the first place. If only that were true.
I cross my arms with a subtle lift of my chin, silently letting him know that I’ll do whatever it takes to make him crack. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“How original.”
“Try again,” Zane challenges me.
“I will,” I say easily. “As many times as it takes.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I can feel the irritation simmering just beneath the surface now. The sooner he realizes I won’t quit, the better.
“Seriously, Zane,” I continue, letting my tone shift just slightly into something less mocking and more direct. “What do you think is going to happen here?”
When he doesn’t answer, I keep going. “You keep me locked up long enough, and I just…change my mind? Decide I don’t need to go back?”
“That would be a start.”
I snort at the subtle sarcasm in his tone. “Not happening.”
“Then we’re at an impasse.”
“Not really. I’m still going to leave,” I counter, regardless of knowing he has the upper hand here.
His eyes narrow. “Not while I can stop you.”
I tilt my head. “So you’ll just watch me every second of every day?”
“Yes.”
The answer is immediate, and far too certain to be rational. For a second, something in my chest stutters with something else rather than fear, but I ignore it.
“That sounds exhausting,” I say lightly, crossing my arms over my chest. “And very time-consuming, especially for someone like you.”
“It is exhausting. Just like it is to listen to your millions of questions every day,” Zane utters, pinching at his nose like he can’t wait to get himself out of this situation.
“As it should be.”
A flicker of something almost like amusement crosses his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. That used to be an easy thing for him before, but now, he doesn’t give it away as freely.
For a quiet moment, I study him.
The way he holds himself, the tension in his shoulders, and the constant awareness he never seems to drop. Even when he’s exhausted, he doesn’t stop.
But he’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be.
Not by this, or by me. For some reason, that thought sends a strange thrill through me.
I shouldn’t enjoy pestering him like this, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than feeling like nothing, or losing my mind to boredom.
So I push again.
“You’re slipping.”
