Page 5 of Redline Communion
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”
“I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“Funny you didn’t think that before the Reaping.”
His face changes. Not dramatically. Ash isn’t dramatic when he’s hurt. He gets quieter, like if he can keep everything contained inside his body, nobody else will have to deal with the mess.
A small, exhausted part of me wants to make it easier for him.
Last night he asked instead of ordering. He let go when I told him to. When I chose to stay outside that door, he didn’t make the choice mean more than it did.
That should count for something.
It does.
It just doesn’t buy him this conversation yet.
I turn back to my coffee.
After a beat too long, I hear him peel away from the doorframe and leave, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Cassian watches the whole thing without a word.
“Not going to weigh in?” I ask.
“It’s not my place.”
“Since when has that ever stopped you?”
“Since you started keeping score.”
The corner of my mouth moves before I can stop it. I’m immediately irritated with myself.
“I wasn’t aware you minded losing.”
“I don’t.”
“Another lie?”
“Another question you won’t like the answer to.”
I get up to rinse my mug, more for something to do with my hands than because it needs it.
Something catches my eye through the kitchen doorway.
A folder sits on the hall table.
Cream stock. Brass corners.
The same kind Helena held at the rail when she read Marcus Deering’s name aloud.
I’m almost certain it wasn’t there last night.
Almost.
My hand tightens around the mug.
Behind me, Cassian doesn’t move or say anything.
