"Nico."
The single word was barely louder than a breath, but it stopped him instantly. His hand froze on the brass handle.
"Stay," Mara said.
He didn't turn around, his broad shoulders tensing beneath his tailored shirt. "The perimeter is secure, Mara. You don't need a guard in the room…"
"I don't need a guard," she interrupted softly. "But you look like you're going to drop. You need to rest, too."
"I will," he lied smoothly, his grip on the door handle remaining tight.
"No, you won't," Mara countered. She let out a dry, exhausted exhale. "You'll go down to the study, pour a glass of whiskey, and stare at maps until you pass out in a leather chair. Just... stay here. Rest for an hour. Please."
Nico finally let go of the handle and turned to face her.
The dim, golden twilight caught the sharp, conflicted angles of his jaw. He looked at the massive, empty bed, then back at her, visibly fighting a war inside his own head.
