“No, I don’t think I will. You called me—what did you just call me?”
“Inside.”
I stepped closer before I thought better of it.
His eyes dropped to the movement. Just once. A less paranoid woman might’ve missed it.
Unfortunately for both of us, I was professionally paranoid. “I’m not a spy, Mr.Graves.”
“Mm.”
“I’m a translator.”
“Mm.”
“Stop sayingmm.”
This time, the corner of his mouth moved. Not enough to count. But enough to ruin my afternoon.
“Mm.”
I stared at him.
He stood on the same square foot of corridorhe had occupied for the last three minutes, patient as stone, infuriating as a locked door, and waited.
“Ms. Cordero.”
“Yes?”
His gaze moved pointedly to my door.
TheArrival
Catalina
Tuesday morning, he was outside my door at seven again, with coffee. Apparently, we’d acquired a deeply inconvenient and delicious ritual.
He held out the cup, and I took it. It was in the same recycled brown paper as yesterday, same lid, from the same staff kitchen on the second floor. This time, though, there was something in his other hand: a croissant on a small plate, still warm.
He offered it without a word, as if it had simply occurred to him that I might want one. As if he had no agenda at all.
I should have refused on principle, but I took it because it was warm, and where buttery pastry was concerned, I’d never once possessed principles.
At the first bite, my eyes closed before I could stop them. Only for a count of one, but long enough that when I opened them, Dominic was watching me with the dragon looking out through his slitted pupils.
The man went out of his way to bring me coffee and a pastry I had not asked for. The dragon enforcer was running a honeypot with baked goods.
“Mr. Graves.”
“Ms. Cordero.”
He didn’t acknowledge what he’d called me last night. He also didn’t step back, which I noticed only in the shallowest, least useful way. He stood closer than he had been Sunday. Closer than escort protocol required. When I adjusted my grip on the coffee, my knuckles almost brushed his.
According to every etiquette file I’d read, dragons were precise about personal space. They didn’t drift, didn’t crowd by accident, didn’t let their bodies enter another person’s radius without intent. Dominic Graves was either ignoring that rule or enforcing one I’d not been given. Both seemed on-brand.
“What’s the schedule for today?”
“Council reading room at nine. Trade delegation prelim materials will be on the table. Yuki has approved your access to the secondary archive. You will have a research aide from ten until twelve. Norwegian arrival at thirteen-fifteen. Receiving hall at fourteen-thirty.”
