The room we had used for rest had, for that night, become a space of confidences and mistrust.
The curtains were drawn, but the fireplace kept an amber glow flickering among the shadows. Irina stood by the window, her posture straight, as if she were still wearing an invisible armor. I watched her from a chair, arms crossed.
“Are you going to tell me what was so urgent it couldn’t wait?” I asked, making no effort to hide my impatience.
Irina didn’t reply right away. Her gaze was fixed on the darkness beyond the glass, as if hoping to find some certainty out there. Finally, she turned toward me.
“It’s about Vix,” she said.
I blinked, confused.
“Vix?”
“I don’t trust him.”
I let out a sigh and stood up.
“That was it?”
“Don’t take me lightly,” she snapped, her tone rising. “I know ev
