Page 72 of Redline Communion

“It was close.”

“How often?”

She studies me before answering. “You know.”

“I know she uses. I’m asking how often.”

The next pause is longer. She is deciding what I know, where I learned it, and how much truth she can afford to place around either answer.

“You should ask her,” she says.

“I’m asking you.”

“Then you’re already asking the wrong person.”

The phrase catches somewhere unpleasant. I step farther into the room.

“You’ve been spending more time with her.”

“Yes.”

“You have access.”

“So do a lot of people.”

“You have a history of using.”

“So do a lot of people in this house.”

Her voice stays even, but there is a blade beneath it now. I recognize the construction because I taught her how to answer questions without surrendering the shape of the truth.

Apparently she learned too well.

“How often?” I ask again.

Talia leans back against the sofa. “Enough that you’re asking.”

The arrangement between us has always depended on clarity rather than honesty. Those are different things, though I did not understand the full distance between them until recently.

I told her what I needed: keep Ash occupied, keep him soft, distract him from Lorelei long enough for the house to move around him. The rest was left to her judgment because micromanaging attraction defeats the purpose of hiring someone good at producing it.

At some point, Lorelei became part of the equation. I noticed and did not intervene because proximity to Talia made Lorelei easier to observe, or that was the explanation I gave myself at the time.

It feels inadequate now.

“Did you give it to her?”

Talia’s eyes sharpen. “That’s a very specific question.”

“Answer it.”

“She asked.”

It is not a complete answer, but it gives me what I need.

“How many times?”

“You don’t get to do this.”