"Sit down before you fall down," Rhys said, his voice flat through the speaker, though his eyes stayed locked on mine through the heavy glass.
I didn't sit. I gripped the cold edge of the metal ledge below the partition until my knuckles turned white. "You look like hell."
"I look like a man who spent four hours in a transit cell because your uncle signed a diplomatic hold order," he said, shifting his shoulders against the bench. The heavy reinforced barrier between us was three inches of bulletproof composite, making his posture seem strange and distant. "You shouldn't be in this wing, Vivienne. The guards here aren't embassy staff. They're private contractors."
"I don't care who they are," I said, my voice dropping as I glanced toward the corner where the overhead camera swiveled wit
