I must have looked completely lost, because he said, “I knew you must be starving.”
Iwasstarving.
“And I wanted to apologize.”
Oh.
He straightened, hands settling at his sides like he was bracing for impact. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I misjudged the moment.”
I nodded, because it was the only movement my body remembered how to do with the sharp pain pressing between my ribs.
“I won’t let it happen again,” he said.
There it was. The answer to the question I hadn’t asked yet, delivered neatly and without cruelty. I appreciated that. I also hated it.
“That’s fine,” I said, because I was excellent at saying that. “Really. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I was lying, but it was a small, necessary lie to keep me functioning.
He gestured to the bed. “Please. Climb in. You should eat.”
I did, sliding onto the opposite side and tucking my legs under the blanket like this was a sleepover and not the slow dismantling of expectations I had built in the last twenty minutes. When he handed me a plate, I took a bite of the chicken and nearly cried.
“This is… wow,” I said.
He relaxed afraction. “Good.”
The wine was smooth and deep. I didn’t know enough about wine to describe it properly, only that it made limbs loosen and my thoughts slow down enough to behave.
We ate quietly for a moment.
Then he said, “I don't understand what happened at the Writer’s Museum.”
That was an easier topic to discuss.
“Those attackers were trained,” he continued. “They knew the space. They knew how I would move. They were trying to prevent us from finding something they want to keep hidden. The question is what.”
“Information.”
“Yes,” he said. “Butwhatinformation? And who are they? Who sent them?”
I swallowed and wiped my fingers. “I sent Percy the photos I took. The annotations. The catalog numbers. The map. All of it. Hopefully, he’ll know something we don’t.”
Arthur studied me for a long moment, then said, “You are brilliant.”
I laughed out of reflex. “No, I’m not.”
“No,” he said. “I’m serious.”
I opened my mouth, already preparing my standard deflection, but he continued.
“The connections you made. You noticed what did not belong, and the way you moved through that space… I could not have accomplished what we did without you.”
My stomach dipped. Annoying.
“And,” he added, quieter, “you saved my life.”
I shook my head. “You saved mine first. And second. And probably third.”
