She found him in his study less than ten minutes later, exactly where she'd known he'd be, standing at the window with his back to the door in the same posture he'd held the night the alarm bell rang — shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back, a man bracing himself for something he already knew was coming.
He didn't turn around when she entered. He didn't need to. She suspected he'd heard her footsteps in the corridor and known, with the same unerring instinct that had let him identify her as dangerous the very first night they'd met, exactly what kind of conversation was about to happen.
"You didn't ask me."
The words came out sharper than she'd intended, echoing off the freshly repaired walls of a study that had, in the span of a single week, already survived one act of destru
