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The thought takes hold and won’t let go. If I can convince him that the agency won’t negotiate for me, maybe he’ll let me go. Maybe he’ll decide I’m more trouble than I’m worth and cut his losses.

It’s a long shot, but it’s the only shot I have.

***

Maxim comes to see me that afternoon.

I hear the lock click and turn toward the door, my body tensing before I can stop it. He steps inside with that same controlled stillness I remember from our first encounter, closing the door behind him without turning around.

He’s wearing a dark shirt today, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearms are muscled, dusted with dark hair. I notice details I shouldn’t notice: his jaw is clean-shaven, and there’s a faint scar that runs along his cheekbone.

“You’re sleeping better,” he says.

It’s not a question. God, has he been watching me sleep?

“I sleep when I’m tired.”

“Most people in your situation don’t sleep at all.”

“I’m not most people.”

Something shifts in his expression. Not quite a smile, but the suggestion of one. “No. You’re not.”

He moves further into the room, not toward me specifically, just claiming space. I stay where I am, near the couch, watching him the way he’s watching me.

“I want to discuss something with you,” he says.

“I don’t have a choice in that, do I?”

“Everything is a choice. Some choices just have worse consequences than others.”

He settles into the chair across from me, his posture relaxed in a way that feels deliberate. He’s not threatened by me. He’s not worried about what I might do. He’s completely in control, and he wants me to know it.

I take a breath. This is my chance.

“The agency won’t negotiate for me,” I say.

He tilts his head slightly. “Won’t they?”

“I’m a contractor. I was hired for a specific job, and that job is over. I don’t have access to their systems, their intelligence, their operations. I’m not an asset to them; I’m a loose end.”

The words taste bitter in my mouth, but I say them anyway. If I can make him believe I’m worthless, maybe he’ll let me go.

Maxim doesn’t respond immediately. He studies me with those pale eyes, and I feel like he’s reading something I didn’t intend to show.

“You’re trying to reduce your value,” he says.

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“You’re telling me what you think I want to hear.” He leans forward slightly. “You’re wrong about your value. I’ve already spoken with your Mr. Mercer.”

My stomach drops. “What?”

“He called to discuss your situation.”

I try to keep my expression neutral, but I can feel the blood draining from my face. Ethan called. Ethan knows where I am. Is he trying to get me out?

“He was very concerned about your safety,” Maxim continues. “Unusually concerned, for a handler discussing an asset.”