He exhales slowly through his nose. “You’re asking questions that will make you a target.”
“I already am,” I say. “Because of him. Because of you. Because of Markov.”
That lands.
I lean closer, my voice dropping. “Do you know where he was taken?”
His jaw works. Once. “No.”
“You’re lying.”
He narrows his eyes at me. His hand shifts on the table, fingers flexing. “Because if you step into that part of this world, there’s no stepping back.”
I swallow. “Do you think he’s dead?”
He doesn’t answer.
I laugh once, sharp and broken. “You see? You keep saying you’re protecting me, but you won’t even trust me with the truth.”
His voice drops. “The truth would break you.”
I meet his gaze, unblinking. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Silence settles between us, taut as wire.
“Finish your food,” he says finally.
I don’t argue. I don’t look at him. I pick up my fork and eat, every bite stiff with irritation, with things unsaid clogging my throat. He watches me the entire time. I can feel it. When I’m done, I stand and turn away without a word.
I barely make it two steps before he speaks again. “Come. I want to show you something.”
I pause, then keep walking. He falls into step beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, guiding without touching. The secured wing opens before us, and I immediately understand what this is.
He stops in front of the first window and places his palm flat against the glass.
“Go on,” he says.
I hesitate, then lift my hand and knock once. The sound is dull. Thick. Nothing like glass should sound.
“Laminated polycarbonate,” he says. “Three layers. Bullet-resistant. It won’t shatter. It won’t spiderweb. Even if someone tries.”
“Someone always tries,” I murmur.
His mouth twitches—not quite a smile. “Exactly.”
We move on. He gestures to a slim black strip embedded along the ceiling. Almost invisible.
“Motion sensors,” he says. “Infrared and pressure. If anything crosses after curfew, I know before the guards do.”
He presses a button on the wall. Screens flicker to life—camera feeds blooming across the surface. The gates. The garden wall. The hedge.
My breath catches.
“That’s where I was,” I say quietly.
“I know,” he replies at once. “Now I have a view of the place from six different angles.”
My jaw tightens, but he’s already moving again.