Page 34 of Redline Communion

That gets me to sit.

I take the chair across from him, leaving the little table between us. It holds a dead plant, two coasters, and nothing anybody could reasonably use as a weapon without embarrassing themselves.

“What did the briefings say?”

“What everyone expects from you.” His gaze stays on my face. “Very little about what you like.”

The answer catches me off guard. Nico notices but doesn’t pounce on it. He reaches over and turns the dead plant a few inches toward the window, as if better lighting might still save it.

“What do you like, Lorelei?”

“That’s a suspiciously normal question.”

“I can make it stranger if that helps.”

“It might.”

“What would you rescue first from a burning theater?”

“A person.”

“Boring.”

“The costumes, then.”

“Better.”

I smile despite myself, and he waits.

That might be the trick, more than anything he says. Nobody in this house waits for my answers. They supply them, correct them, or decide I’ve taken too long and move on.

“I sing,” I say. “Choir, mostly. Musical theater before all of this.”

I wave a hand at the room, meaning the house, the family, the ritual, and possibly my entire life since my mother got married.

“What kind of roles?”

“Whatever they gave altos with good projection and no fear of ugly costumes. My school was very committed to putting me in a nun’s habit.”

“Were you convincing?”

“Devastatingly.”

He laughs, a real laugh this time, brief and lower than I expected.

I like the sound of it.

I like that I made it happen more.

“It’s the one thing that feels like mine,” I say. “Singing. Everything else around here feels borrowed from somebody with better paperwork.”

Nico’s expression changes. The charm doesn’t disappear, but it loosens enough for something quieter to show through.

“You miss it.”

“I still sing.”

“That isn’t what I said.”