GIDEON
Her bag was on the bed. Half full.
She looked at me, and the moment our eyes met I saw it wasn’t grief on her face.
It wasn’t the broken, quiet devastation of the girl on the terrace or the hollow exhaustion of the morning after Jaxon’s attack.
It was anger.
Real anger. Clean and hot and entirely directed at me.
“Did you know I was in that corridor?” she asked.
“No. I found out after.”
“So you sat in there for, how long? While they decided whether I was worth keeping?” Her voice was controlled but barely, the edges of it sharp. “And you said nothing. You just– you accepted their terms.”
“The terms were necessary–“
“Don’t.” She turned back to the bed. Reached for another item, shoved it into the bag. “Don’t do the political framing thing. Not with me. Not right now.”
“
