Recognition.
“Ah,” he murmurs. “There it is.”
I tense immediately. “What?”
“The real fear.” He points lightly toward me with two fingers. “Not that she will leave. That she should.”
The accuracy of it steals breath from my lungs.
For a moment I cannot speak.
Lenrog settles back into the booth looking almost sympathetic, which is somehow worse than cruelty. “You think loving her drags her closer to darkness.”
“Yes.”
“And yet you continue.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He nods once. “That means it’s real.”
I laugh once under my breath, harsh and humorless. “You say that like it’s comforting.”
“No. Merely informative.”
The server approaches cautiously. Lenrog orders another drink without consulting me. I refuse food again. Once she leaves, he folds his hands together.
“I will handle Ron,” he says.
“How?”
“That is not your concern.”
“If your version of handling him includes another milkshake incident?—”
Lenrog’s mouth tightens with visible irritation now. “No.”
The answer comes sharper than anything else he has said tonight.
Interesting again.
“You were embarrassed too,” I realize.
Lenrog exhales slowly through his nose. “Ron turned a controlled ecosystem into emotional theater. He publicly undermined an agreement I established with a man dangerousenough to matter.” His eyes meet mine steadily. “Yes. I dislike embarrassment.”
The honesty almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
“What happens if he refuses correction?”
Lenrog swirls the amber liquor once more. “Then he reminds me why dynasties fail.”
That answer carries enough cold beneath it to silence further questions.
Thunder rolls again over the city.
I rise this time more slowly.
