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“But you think they know my father.”

“I think they know who you are.”

My fingers tighten around the mug. “They want ransom?”

“Maybe.”

“You said they did.”

“I needed you to understand the immediate threat.”

“You lied.”

“No.”

“You sounded sure.”

“I was sure they planned to take you. I don’t know why.”

I push my plate away.

The thought of those men watching me makes my skin crawl. How long were they following me before Samuel noticed them? Did they know where I worked? Where I lived? Had they watched me sleeping through the window I always left cracked open?

I think of Samuel sitting outside my apartment. Oddly, his presence in that memory comforts me now.

“Men like that hurt the people their enemies love,” he says. “They do it for money. Revenge. Information. Sometimes just to prove they can.”

“And my father loves me.”

“Yes.”

The word is quiet, but it holds absolute certainty.

“Which makes me a target.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t he warn me?”

“Maybe he didn’t know.”

“Or maybe he did and didn’t want to frighten me.”

Samuel says nothing. He doesn’t have to. I stand and carry my plate to the sink, needing distance from the conversation.

My ankle aches when I put too much weight on it. Samuel’s chair scrapes behind me.

“I’m fine,” I say before he can move.

He stops.

“We need rules,” I say.

Samuel’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Rules?”

“Yes. If I’m staying, I need to know I’m not a prisoner.”

“You’re not.”