Page 134
I had no explanation for that.
And I disliked mysteries most when they lived under my own skin.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Talia
Veyr slept like someone who expected to be attacked before morning.
I knew that because I woke up twice during the night.
The first time, I heard nothing. That was what woke me.
The rented dwelling had enough neighboring noise to become background after a while—distant transports, footsteps in the corridor outside, a door sliding shut somewhere down the row. At some point, all of it had gone quiet.
I opened my eyes and stared into the dark. For several seconds, I thought I was alone. Then I saw him.
Veyr sat in a chair near the common-room entrance, head tipped back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
Asleep.
Apparently.
His weapon rested against his thigh, one hand still loosely curled around it.
I stayed where I was, half hidden behind the doorway of the sleeping room. Light from the street outside cut faint lines across the floor, and Veyr didn’t move until a transport passed somewhere outside.
His eyes opened instantly.
No confusion. No slow return to consciousness.
One second asleep. The next awake. Listening.
His gaze swept the door, the window, the secondary exit, then the corridor.
Then me.
I froze.
He watched me for a second. “You should be sleeping.”
I leaned against the doorway, crossing my arms. “So should you.”
“I was,” he said, his voice low and even.
“That looked exhausting,” I noted, watching the tension in his shoulders.
His expression didn’t flicker. “It was sufficient.”
“You were asleep sitting up,” I pressed, gesturing toward the weapon still in his hand. “With that.”
“That is not unusual,” he replied flatly.
I shook my head. “That is deeply unusual.”
“For you,” he countered, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“For anyone who isn’t being hunted,” I shot back, my voice tightening.
