Her eyes hold mine. “To work.”
“That’s what you tell people,” I answer, and at this point, I’m honestly impressed.
“It’s what you pay me for,” she says, then she tilts her head. “You don’t pay me for honesty.”
Roarke shifts again, and I speak without turning. “Go check the perimeter,” I tell him.
He hesitates, then nods once and leaves, closing the door behind him. I take my glass and roll it slowly between my fingers.
“This place used to be louder,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “How?”
“People,” I answer. “Music. Parties. Eva liked noise.”
Her face shifts, just a fraction. “Eva.”
“My ex-fiancée,” I say.
Quinn doesn’t speak or offer pity. She just waits, and the waiting is steady and clean. I study her face, the curve of her mouth, the hollow at the base of her throat. “That’s rare.”
“What’s rare?” she asks.
“Someone letting a name sit without trying to fix it.”
She holds my gaze. “You didn’t invite me here to fix you.”
I smile, faint and sharp. “No.”
Then I look down at my glass and decide I’m done keeping every piece locked away. “I don’t talk about her,” I say.
Quinn’s voice stays quiet. “You just did.”
“Only the name,” I answer, then I set the glass down. “She died five years ago.”
Quinn nods once and says nothing else. “It was a car bombing,” I say. “It was meant for me. She got in first.”
Quinn’s fingers tighten slightly on the rim of her glass, then they relax again. “You watched it happen?”
I nod once. “I saw the flash,” I say. “I heard her scream once, then nothing. I smelled burning rubber and metal, and I ran, and I couldn’t get the door open.”
Quinn’s eyes hold mine, and there’s something in them. “Who did it?” she asks.
I laugh once, low and humorless. “Half the city wanted it.”
“That’s not an answer,” she says.
“It’s the only honest one,” I reply, then I tip my head slightly. “I never proved it.”
Quinn’s voice stays steady. “You still chose to build anyway.”
I nod, and I feel the old anger rise, then settle. “I chose control at a time when the world expected me to break.”
“So you don’t lose another person that way,” she observes.
I hold her gaze. “So I don’t feel helpless again.”
Her eyes flick down, then back up. “And love?”