WAYNE POV
I cut into the steak, slow, steady. The knife slid through and I brought a piece to my mouth. Juices, salt, iron. I chewed, but my eyes didn’t leave her.
She was sitting down there, plate on her lap, attacking it like it had insulted her. Every strike of her fork against the porcelain was sharp enough to make the guards shift their eyes.
The noise scraped through the room, loud, messy, but she didn’t care. She just kept going, head bent, jaw tight. I could feel the anger rolling off her.
And instead of being annoyed, it pulled a smile out of me. Almost a laugh.
I took another bite, cleared my throat, let the sound fill the silence. She didn’t even look up. She kept stabbing food, shoving it into her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in days.
“I’m talking to you,” I said finally.
