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“I wonder,” the man in the chair speaks. “Does asking that question so often to someone ever get… old?”
“I’ll thank you kindly to keep your hands off of my conformist,” he says, his rugged voice quieting the panic in the room like a theater. “You wouldn’t want me to lose my temper.”
“That’s right. You’re safe. You’re safe with me.”
“Those aren’t the rules we agreed on, love.”
“I’m pleased we came to an understanding today,” I tell them. “Yes, I’m pleased because I wouldn’t want either of you to fall under the assumption that I don’t like to play games.” “I don’t catch your meaning,” Meridei says slowly, keeping her face perfectly still. I lean forward, clamping my hands down over theirs, squeezing. “I believe it’s my move now.”
“Get off of me!” the man pleads with his face mashed in the cement wall. Dessin smirks and whispers in his ear, “Keep begging.”
“Are you ever going to tell me how you mysteriously know so much about my life?” “Why would I do a silly thing like that?”
“Say your goodbyes,” he says, murder dancing in his chocolate eyes. “I’m going to kill them all.”
“But I’m trying to be better, truly. Because I get to see that beautiful face every day, even though she can be unnaturally optimistic”—he points to me with his knife, smiles sadly—“and it can be mildly annoying. I’d rather not let her down.”
