Page 135

He met my gaze steadily. “We are being hunted.”

The words landed like a physical blow. I fell silent, but only for a moment. My eyes drifted to the empty chair, then back to him. “You know there’s a bed.”

“Yes.”

“Two of them,” I added pointedly.

“Yes.”

I took a step forward, my arms still folded. “You chose a chair by the door.”

He didn’t shift in his seat. “Yes.”

“Why?” I demanded, frustration creeping into my tone.

His answer came without hesitation. “So I can hear the front entrance.”

“You can hear it from the room,” I argued, though part of me already knew.

“Not as quickly,” he stated, and there it was—response time. Everything always came back to response time with him.

I went back to bed.

The second time I woke up, he was still in the chair. Different position. Same weapon. Same angle toward the door.

I didn’t say anything.

By morning, I had learned something I suspected Veyr would never admit. He did not know how to rest. Not really. He only knew how to stop moving. That was different.

When I came into the common room, he was already awake, already dressed, already checking the terminal. Of course he was.

I looked toward the food unit. One empty nutrient packet sat on the counter. That was it. Then I noticed the sweet red fruit sitting beside it. Not inside the food unit. On the counter.

I looked at Veyr, then at the fruit, then back at him. “What’s that?”

His attention remained on the terminal. “Fruit.”

“I know it’s fruit.”

“Then why did you ask?”

I stared at the side of his face. “Why is it sitting there?”

He finally looked at me. “You eat those.”

For a second, I had absolutely nothing to say. Which was probably why his brow furrowed.

“What?” he asked flatly.

“Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.”

I picked up the fruit. “You remembered.”

His expression became suspiciously neutral. “I observed a pattern.”

Of course he had. Not I remembered you like them. Not I thought you might want one. A pattern.