That intrigues me more than anything else.
“Sit,” I command, gesturing to the worn leather chair near the desk.
She hesitates.
A warning flickers in my expression, and she obeys, lowering herself carefully into the seat.
Good.
I cross the room, pouring a measure of dark elven wine into a glass before returning. I don’t offer her any—she doesn’t ask.
“Start talking.” I lean against the desk, watching her with the patience of a man who has all the time in the world.
She exhales, slow and measured. “Lartina.”
The name slithers through the air, dripping with venom.
Now she has my attention.
I keep my expression neutral. “What about her?”
She shifts, gripping the satchel tighter. “She’s after something. Something connected to you. I don’t know everything, but I know enough.” Her gaze sharpens. “And I know she’ll kill me to keep me from telling you.”
A thrill dances up my spine, dark and electric.
I crouch before her, watching the way her pupils dilate as I invade her space. Her breath stutters just slightly.
“Tell me,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper.
She wets her lips. I track the movement.
“I will,” she breathes, “but I want something in return.”
A chuckle rumbles in my chest. “Of course you do.”
She squares her shoulders, fire burning behind her exhaustion. “I want protection.”
I hum, tilting my head. “Protection isn’t cheap, little thief. You can’t afford me.”
Her fingers tighten around the parchment. “Then consider this a down payment.”
I hold her gaze, my smirk curving sharper. “And the rest?”
A spark of something crosses her face. Doubt. Hesitation. A secret.
Her voice is softer when she speaks. “When the time comes… you’ll want me alive.”
She says it like a prophecy. A promise.
And gods help me, I believe her.
I reach for the satchel. I pluck it from her grasp, letting my fingers brush against hers. Cold.
“You have my attention, little thief,” I murmur. “Let’s see if you can hold it.”
I rise to my feet, flipping open the satchel.
My gaze flickers over the ink-stained parchment.