The guard doesn’t move while I scramble to shove the receiver back into its cradle.
He stands in the bathroom doorway like a wall in a suit. Brown eyes, no expression, hands clasped neatly in front of him.
“How much did you hear?” I ask, throat tight.
“Enough,” he says. “Mr. Moretti is in his office.”
“Of course he is,” I mutter. “Scheduling my execution?”
The man doesn’t answer. He just waits.
“Fine,” I say. “Tell your king I’m on my way.”
He steps aside as I brush past, his gaze flicking to the still‑running tap, then back to me. Not judging. Just…recording.
Mia pops out of the bedroom as I enter, and the phone is still in her hand.
“Was that—?”
“Doom,” I say. “That was doom.”
Her eyes widen. “He knows?”
“He always knows,” I say. “Apparently there’s a bat signal somewhere tha
