Fawn’s POV
“Yes, you know.” I wiggled my fingers vaguely. “Reanimated-wife house rules. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t run with scissors. Don’t tell anyone I think I was murdered.”
His eyes cut to me at that last part. Sharp. “We agreed you weren’t going to say that again, and I doubt you could run right now.”
“In public or to a shrink,” I corrected. “We didn’t sign anything about the car. This is a free speech zone.”
He leaned back against the seat, studying me fully now. “You don’t talk to the press,” he said. “At all. Not until we decide what the line is.”
“We?” I echoed, clutching a hand to my chest. “Look at us, co-parenting my narrative. I feel so special.”
“You don’t run off,” he continued, ignoring me. “You use the security team. You let the nurse do her job. Stairs only with
