Page 69 of Drowning in Darkness

One word. Too agreeable. We keep walking. The gravel crunches beneath our feet as the path curves past the greenhouse. Condensation fogs the glass from the inside, and beyond it sits rows of winter greens, herbs, and stacked trays ready for spring planting. She pauses there, pressing one sleeve-covered hand to the glass.

“You grow things?”

“Food tends to be useful.”

“Again with the romance stripping.”

“It’s a greenhouse.”

“It could be a little sanctuary of leafy hope.”

“Still a greenhouse.”

She pouts. “Do you ever wake up and think, today I shall be whimsical?”

“No.”

“That explains so much.” Her gaze sharpens. “Was that almost a smile?”

Maybe. “No.”

“Your face betrayed you.”

“My face did nothing.”

“Your face did several things. I can produce a report.”

“I’m sure it would be thorough.”

“With diagrams.”

“Naturally.”

We continue toward the west side of the property where the trees thin enough to reveal the lower field. In spring, wildflowers cover it, not because I planted them but because nature insists on softening even the places men leave bare. At the moment, it sits under a hard crust of frost, the long grass silvered beneath the falling snow.

“That line of posts marks the safe boundary,” I tell her. “You can walk anywhere from the lodge to here without triggering the inner alert.”

Her gaze follows the posts stretching towards the woods. “And beyond that?”

“Not alone.”

Her face changes so fast I almost miss it. There and gone. A flicker of something. Not fear exactly.

“I see.”

“You really don’t.” The words leave me before I’ve decided to say them.

She turns her head. “I don’t?”

“No. You’re hearing restriction. I’m explaining risk.”

A small smile appears. “Are you always this charming on guided tours, or am I special?”

“It’s reserved for when the guest is difficult.”

“I’m a delight.”

“You’re something.”