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He turned back to the screen.

I studied him instead.

Now that we weren’t moving, I noticed more. He never stood with his back fully exposed to the doorway. Even at the terminal, he angled himself enough to keep the corridor in view. His weapon stayed within easy reach, and his eyes kept moving.

Not nervously.

Automatically.

Like some part of him had forgotten how to stop checking for danger.

“You can sit down, you know.”

“I am aware.”

“You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

“Then stop looking.”

I blinked. “That was almost rude.”

“It was intended to be.”

“Wow.”

His mouth moved. Barely.

I pointed at him. “That was a joke.”

“No.”

“You’re getting worse at denying it.”

He changed screens.

Conversation over.

Of course.

I dropped into one of the chairs. The surface was hard enough to qualify as punishment and cold enough that I shifted once, then again.

It did not improve.

I set my bag beside my feet. “So what now?”

“Now you tell me everything you remember.”

“I already told you.”

“You told me fragments.”

“I was a little busy being kidnapped.”

“You were not kidnapped.”

I looked at him. “Still arguing that?”

“Yes.”