He clears his throat, crossing his arms, lips pinched like he’s trying to stop himself from interrupting.
Probably wise.
“I used to buck the pain, thinking it was normal. Now that I see otherwise, I need to find a way to cut myself loose of the bind, but that’s not ayouproblem. It’s ameproblem. I just—” I shove my hands back through my hair, then stamp them on my waist, not knowing what else to do with them. When that doesn’t feel right, I mimic his stance, crossing them over my chest. “I was going to tell you. I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”
His eyes widen, brows raised in a way that makes me wonder if I should be offended.
Silence drags for so long I grow restless, unfolding my arms, refolding them. Finally, I arch a brow. “Is everything okay?”
He clears his throat and pockets something. “Honestly? I thought I’d have to pry that out of you.”
My gaze slides to his ripped knuckles, then drifts behind him to a deep fist print in the column that supports the structure.“Youknew?”
“It was just confirmed for me, yes.”
“How?”
“I have a pet waif.”
I glare at him, turning over the sentence. Five words I never thought I’d hear pieced together in that way. Not in a million phases.
I didn’t even know that was anoption.
“I’m going to need you to go a bit deeper on this.” I scan the space for any sign of the creature, perhaps hiding out in a shadowed corner, ready to toss me an extra dose of spangle shit. “Where do you keep it?”
“In my pocket. Most of the time.”
My gaze spears to the bulge in his left pant pocket. The precise size and shape of a small jar.
I’m no exhibit of good decisions, but that’s a recipe for disaster.
“He feeds me information.”
My eyes narrow, scouring the dark smudges beneath his. “In exchange for?”
“Sips of my memories,” he says too fast. “And you’re wrong. This isn’t ayouproblem. It’s anusproblem. That’s what a partnership is, Raeve. That’s what my málmrstands for.” He reaches back and hooks the thin braid I tethered to his hair, pulling it forward. “That’s whatthisstands for.”
My cheeks burn from the slap of words I certainly had coming.
I pull breath to speak, but he beats me to it.
“The one who controls this blood bind.” A long pause as the muscle in his jaw ticks. “Does shejustuse the bind to torture you?”
“Yes,” I grit out, trying to imagine a reality where Sereme would deign to get blood beneath her perfectly manicured nails. “Why’s that?”
His eyes pitch black. “I’m trying to discover the origin of all the healing runes you’ve been going to great lengths to hide.”
My blood runs cold, eyes widening as my arms fall to my sides—heavy.
Mindchurning.
He’s—He’s seen.
“How?”
He frowns so deep his brows almost crush together. “Does it matter?”
Probably not.
