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His jaw tightened. That was enough.

I sat back slowly. “Oh.”

Veyr’s gaze remained fixed on mine.

I thought about the mountain safehouse. The hidden transports. The weapons. The filtered air. The rooms that held everything needed to survive and nothing anyone might miss.

Then I looked around this rental.

The worn cushions. Somebody else’s cooking drifting through the vents. Light moving across the wall whenever a transport passed. A heat mark on the table left by a stranger.

Two opened dinner packages sitting between us.

Proof that ordinary people had occupied this room badly enough to leave traces behind.

Veyr had left none anywhere.

The way he moved through every room like someone might attack from the walls. The way he had no home. No insignia. Nothing personal. No life anyone could trace.

“You’re not military.”

“No.”

“Not anymore.”

His expression shifted. Barely.

“What happens to somebody like you when there isn’t a mission?”

His face went blank. Not guarded. Blank. That was different.

I waited.

He looked toward the window. “I prepare for the next one.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It is the answer.”

Something in my chest tightened. I didn’t like it. So I pushed.

“What do you do when you’re not preparing?”

Nothing.

“What do you like?”

His eyes came back to mine. “What?”

“Food. Music. Places. Anything.”

“This is irrelevant.”

“That’s not an answer.”

His irritation surfaced. Finally.

“I have work.”