But we are allowed to converse. We should talk. Reach out, Jane. Just as I begin to stand, Thatcher detaches from his spot, and he crosses the room. His attentive gaze never leaves me. My heart begins to race, and I lower back onto the old creaking stair. My bodyguard halts at the banister. Towering above me, the staircase too narrow for more than one person to sit.
