"Yes," she said, opening her eyes again. "Two."
He waited patiently. Wounded in the face by her hand and in other places by words she had not bothered softening, and somehow still waiting as though she were the one setting terms in a negotiation he had already lost.
She folded her arms, more to keep her hands occupied than for emphasis. "First, never do this again. Never lie to me like that. Never insult my intelligence because you're frightened of what I'll notice. If you don't want to say something, then say that. If you can't say it, say that. But never do this again."
The words came cleanly now, stripped of tears, stripped of heat, and left with the colder precision she trusted more.
Arik took them without interruption.
Then he nodded once. "All right."
Natalie narrowed her eyes. "That was too quick."
"You were correct."
"I know I was correct."
"I know."
