The question hung in the air, heavier than a death sentence. Darius didn't move. He was already there, a monolith of cold fury standing over me, his gaze pinning me to the chair. The firelight cast long, dancing shadows behind him, making him seem larger, more menacing, a god of judgment in his own temple. The only sound was the crackle of the flames and the frantic, silent beat of my own heart.
I didn't answer immediately. I let the silence stretch, forcing myself to breathe slowly, to calm the frantic bird trapped in my chest. I had to play this perfectly. One wrong word, one flicker of the eye, and he would see through the entire performance. I looked down at the letter on the floor, a crumpled white flag of surrender, then back up at him, letting a flicker of the exhaustion I truly felt show on my face.
"Does it matter?" I asked, my voice hoarse. "He's gone. The proposition is dead in the water."
