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When I made the decision to not wear a robe, it’s because I was going to the goddamn kitchen at four in the morning.

I never once considered the possibility that a man was going to be sitting in the dark, watching me bend into a fridge in a tank top I have owned since residency and washed so many times you can just about see through it⁠—

Oh no.

Oh no.

I look down without meaning to. The under-cabinet light is not doing me any favors.

Neither is the cold of the fridge, which was open for a solid thirty seconds while I was hunting for water.

Every single thing about this moment is working against me.

I snap my arms across my chest so fast I nearly hit myself in the jaw.

To his credit, he doesn’t smile at that.

Instead, he just very deliberately lifts his eyes back to my face and keeps them there like he’s going to be a gentleman about this.

I’m not sure why that’s worse than him deciding to stare at my protruding nipples.

Because he’s not looking at me the way a stranger looks at a woman he shouldn’t.

He’s looking at me like he still can’t believe I’m standing in his kitchen, in the middle of the night, in almost nothing—and now trying very hard not to.

I feel every inch of skin I didn’t cover.

“So.” He tilts his head slightly, his hand still wrapped around his glass. “Why are you up?”

I shrug, hoping I look relaxed even though I’m internally freaking the fuck out. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He raises a brow. “Want to try that one again? I don’t believe you.”

“Well I guess that’s too bad.” I turn my back on him, which, in hindsight, now gives him a fantastic view of my ass, but at least I don’t have to see his face. I walk to the sink and turn the tap on, filling a glass I don’t actually want. I drink from it just to have something to do with my hands. “It’s four a.m. People are awake at four a.m. for a lot of reasons.”

“Name one.”

“Insomnia,” I say immediately, something I’ve struggled with since medical school.

“Insomnia isn’t a reason. It’s a symptom.”

Oh for fucks sake. “Oh my god.” I set the glass down harder than I mean to. “Fine. I was thirsty.”

“Katerina.”

The way he says my name sets me on edge. It’s the way his deep voice wraps around each syllable of my name and I shiver involuntarily. I can feel the hardness of my nipples press against my crossed arms and thank heavens I turned away from him.

I close my eyes for a second. I am not going to say you. I would rather chew glass than say you. So I decide to tell him the other truth.

“Seraphina.” I let out a long breath. “I keep thinking about her. About the fact that grown men in your world think a two year old is useful.” I let that sentence hang there because even if his reasons were noble, he, too, thought a two year old was useful. “So no. Not sleeping.”

There’s only silence behind me.

“Do you believe me?” he finally asks. “About the threat.”

I don’t want to.

God, I don’t want to.