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Of course he does...

I watch Elias take the first step. Then the second.

Mackensie follows my gaze. He does not speak. He does not need to.

“I have something to check,” I say.

Mackensie lifts his glass. “Want company?”

“No.”

He almost smiles. “Didn’t think so.”

I stand. The bottle stays where it is. Mackensie stays where he is too.

Wasting no time, I cross the lobby at an easy pace. Not hurried. Not obvious. A man leaving a drink to use the stairs is nothing.

A Pakhan following a boy who already lied to him is something else.

I keep that thought off my face. He is already on the first landing when I reach the bottom step. I watch as Elias pauses, as if he can feel eyes on his back, then keeps going.

Smart enough to sense it.

Not smart enough to stop.

I take the stairs behind him. Not close enough to crowd. Close enough that if he turns, he will know I did not arrive here by accident.

Keller’s upper floor is quieter at this hour. Private rooms. Closed doors. The kind of corridor where a boy has no good reason to wander unless he is cleaning, lost, or looking for trouble.

I already know which of those three he is.

Elias slows near the same stretch of hallway as this morning. The double doors. The smaller room beside them. He glances once over him shoulder.

Elias sees me. Stops. For a second his face does the same quick calculation it did when he was on the floor with his ass presented to me and my name still unknown to him.

Then he tries to put the mask back on…

Innocent. Helpful. Late on rent. Just a boy doing his job.

Yeah, right.

It is a decent mask. But it I far from good enough to fool me.

“Lost?” I ask. My voice is low. It carries anyway.

Elias swallows. “I was told to check the upstairs rooms before close.”

“Were you now...” Not a question that wants an answer. A door further down the hall opens and a waiter comes out with an empty tray. He sees me, drops his eyes, and walks faster. Elias watches him go. Then he looks back at me.

“I should get back to the floor,” he says.

I take one step closer. Not enough to touch. Enough that he has to tilt his head.

“You lied about your name,” I say.

“I panicked.”

“No. You calculated.”