She seized the opportunity. “Did it—did the scar tissue set properly? I came back to check—but you—”
“It’s fine,” he said in a stiff voice, his posture rigid. His head was turned so that she could see only his jaw. “I hardly feel it.”
She exhaled. “Good. I was afraid that maybe something had gone wrong and that’s why you didn’t come—”
He whirled on her. “It’s not any of your f*****g business.”
She started back. “I just meant—”
“f**k off, Marino.” His voice was deadly soft. “I’m not your pet. I don’t need you.”
Before she could reply, he ripped an envelope out from an inner pocket and slammed it down on the table beside the knife, before stalking out.
Helena stashed her knife in the outer pocket of her satchel and set out, vigilant until she passed the first checkpoint; then she let
