KAEL
I had known Gideon Crossbane for twelve years.
I knew how he stood when he was about to end a negotiation.
I knew the specific quality of his silence before he made a decision that couldn’t be undone.
I knew the three-second pause that meant he was calculating, the one-second pause that meant he’d already calculated and was giving you time to catch up.
I knew how his jaw set when he was containing rage and how it set when he was containing something else, and I had learned long ago to tell the difference because the two looked identical from a distance and were completely different problems up close.
I had never, in twelve years, seen him stand in a kitchen doorway watching a woman make tea like he was afraid that if he moved too fast she’d disappear.
He hadn’t noticed me.
