Page 417 of End Game

Enough that I can shift a little.

Not enough to go anywhere.

The first pull against my wrist happens automatically.

The cuff holds.

Another.

Still there.

My heart jumps.

Ronan rests his palm flat against my chest. “Color?”

“Green.”

“Good.”

Fuck.

He walks around the table checking everything.

I try to watch.

Left.

Right.

What's he doing?

What's next?

“Dex.”

My eyes find him.

“You're already trying to anticipate.”

“I know.”

“Stop.”

“I don't know how.”

“You don't have to know how.”

That makes no fucking sense.

Apparently my face says so.

“I will tell you what matters,” he says. “If I have not told you to solve something, it is not your problem.”

My breathing catches. “That sounds fake.”

“It is not.”

“What about—”