“Okay,” he says after taking a healthy swig. “Let’s unpack that statement. What happened between yesterday and right now that made you decide to”—he gestures vaguely at me—“whatever thisis?”
“I let her leave.”
“Saylor? You let Saylor leave Maison Rouge?” Jay’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “That’s... that’s actually progress, Blue. That’s what we talked about. Letting her make choices.”
“It was a mistake.” I’m on my feet now, pacing the narrow space between his desk and the wall. “She’s out there right now, wandering around Grimlock without protection, and all I can think about is systematically hunting down every single Crow until there’s nothing left but feathers and blood.”
“Systematic hunting.” Jay jots something down in his notebook. “That’s very organized thinking for someone having a breakdown.”
“I’m not having a breakdown.”
“You called an emergency therapy session because your houseguest went sightseeing. You’re definitely having something.” Jay caps his pen and leans back in his chair. “When you say you let her leave, what exactly do you mean?”
“I mean she demanded freedom to explore town alone, and instead of doing the rational thing—locking her in her room until the Crow are extinct—I agreed to let Hans drive her around.” I rake my hands through my hair. “Hans, Jay. A man who once tried to comfort a crying witness by offering her his sandwich.”
He claps his hands. “Congrats. You’re actually making progress. You let her leave even though it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Well... It’s another reason I’m here visiting you,” I admit. “I’m close enough that I could run to save her before you could make another cup of coffee.” The heart of Grimlock is small.
“Hans seems competent enough when it comes to basic protection duties.”
“Hans is competent at following simple instructions. ‘Carry this body.’ ‘Drive here.’ ‘Don’t let the witness escape.’” I stop pacing to face him directly. “He’s not equipped to handle someone as smart and unpredictable as Saylor. She’ll see right through any attempt to manipulate or control her.”
Jay makes another note. “You seem particularly agitated by Saylor’s... independence.”
“I’m agitated by her complete disregard for personal safety. She has no idea what she’s dealing with. The Crow aren’t some abstractthreat. They’re real, they’re hunting her, and they won’t hesitate to torture her for sport before they kill her.”
“But you took care of the immediate threat. The two men who came to her apartment—”
“Were scouts. Advance team. The Crow have at least two, maybe three dozen members, all of them trained killers, all of them patient enough to wait for the perfect opportunity.” I resume pacing. “And I just handed them one by letting her wander around town like she’s on vacation.”
Jay watches me wear a path in his carpet, his expression transferring from concerned to calculating. “Blue, can I ask you something?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“When was the last time you cared this much about someone’s safety?”
I freeze mid-step. “I care about everyone’s safety. That’s the point of what I do.”
“No, you care about justice. About eliminating threats. About protecting the innocent in general.” Jay leans forward. “But when was the last time you personally, specifically, couldn’t function because one individual person was potentially in danger?”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“Because I promised Peter.” The words taste like ash. “Because she’s his daughter and I failed to protect him. Because—”
“Because you have feelings for her.”
The accusation slices through my core. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Jay pulls out a fresh notebook—apparently my psychological state requires additional documentation. “You’ve been agitated since the moment you brought her to Maison Rouge. You kidnapped her instead of finding literally any other solution to the protection problem. You’re sitting in my office having a panic attack because she went shopping or whatever people do in small towns.”
“I’m not having a panic attack.”
“Blue, you’re sweating through a merino wool sweater in sixty-degree weather.”
I look down at myself. He’s right. When did that happen?
