CHAPTER 6 #2
I could tell her I verify orders. That I have refused targets when evidence failed. That I have spent years preparing to inherit an institution I no longer trust as much as I did yesterday.
Those truths lead too close to the paper inside my safe.
“I believe I’m the option in the room.”
“That is a carefully small claim.”
“It’s the one I can prove.”
She pushes the empty bowl away and leans back. Some color has returned to her face.
“Show me the cameras.”
I take the laptop from the office and place it between us. The security display is simple: gates, doors, outer windows, and motion sensors. I show her every feed and the map of active devices.
She compares the screen to the rooms she has seen.
“There should be one in the stairwell.”
“There is.”
“It’s missing from this page.”
“That camera covers the office entrance. Its feed is restricted.”
“From me.”
“Yes.”
“What is in your office?”
“Accord files.”
“Connected to my father?”
“Some may be.”
Her gaze lifts.
“Our agreement gives me access.”
“To evidence affecting you.”
“How will I know what affects me if you decide before I see it?”
The same question waits inside every boundary we negotiated.
I close the security map and open the permissions.
“The stairwell feed stays restricted until I remove protected information from view. I’ll do that tonight.”
“You expect me to trust that.”
“No. I expect you to verify tomorrow.”
She is quiet for a moment.
“Why are you making this easier?”
“Because you’ll find another way if I don’t.”
“That sounds less like respect than surrender.”
“It can be both.”
She looks at me for long enough that the tinnitus in my left ear becomes louder than the radio.
Then she turns the laptop back toward herself.
“Where are the weapons?”
“Office safe. Bedroom safe. Locked cabinet near the rear exit.”
“Codes?”
“I’ll give you the cabinet code. The office and bedroom safes remain mine.”
“Do either contain information about me?”
The answer is yes.
The order is inside the office safe.
My pause lasts less than a second.
She notices.
“The office safe contains active Accord material,” I say.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
I hold her gaze.
She does not look away.
I could tell her now. Place the execution order on the kitchen table beside the brass key and the remains of Tomas’s sister’s soup. Give her the truth before the marriage becomes a house, a routine, or anything she might later mistake for safety.
The order is not verified.
The conditions may be fabricated.
Revealing it tonight may cause her to run while men with stolen credentials are still looking for her.
The reasoning arrives cleanly.
That does not make it honest.
“I will tell you when something in that safe directly changes your choices,” I say.
Her expression closes by a small degree.
“That sounds like something my father would have said.”
The comparison hits harder than it should.
She stands and takes her folder.
“I’ll see the room now.”
I close the laptop. Upstairs, I show her the guest bedroom. It faces the courtyard and contains a bed, desk, armchair, and wardrobe. June’s suitcase sits at the foot of the bed.
Celeste opens it. Four blazers lie folded over two pairs of trousers, three shirts, one nightdress, and six pairs of socks.
A note rests on top.
She reads it and puts it facedown before I can see.
“June?” I ask.
“She believes victory has occurred.”
“Because of the socks?”
“Her standards are selective.”
I point toward the second door. “Bathroom. Towels are inside. The windows are alarmed, but they open.”
“Can I leave the room without alerting you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I leave the house?”
“Yes. The system logs it.”
“Does it ask permission?”
“No.”
She sets her father’s folder on the desk and touches the tortoiseshell clip at the back of her head.
Only then does she look uncertain rather than angry.
“What happens tomorrow?” she asks.
“We review the garage footage, the route changes, and Victor’s access records.”
“Together?”
“Yes.”
“If you decide something is too dangerous for me to see?”
“I tell you.”
“And then?”
“You argue.”
A tired sound leaves her. Closer to a laugh than the one in the garage.
“Your plan depends heavily on my predictability.”
“No. Only that part.”
She removes the clip. Her hair falls to her shoulders, darker where the rain touched it. The change makes her look less like the woman who stood before the Accord and more like someone who has been awake too long in clothes chosen for a life she did not plan to enter.
I turn toward the door.
“Kellan.”
I look back. She rubs her thumb across the edge of the bandage on her palm.
“Is this house a place you keep people safe or a place you keep them?”
The answer should be immediate.
It is not.
“Both,” I say.
Her eyes hold mine.
“That depends on who controls the doors.”
She looks toward the brass override key still in her hand.
“Then we both do.”
I leave her room and walk downstairs.
In the kitchen, two bowls remain on the table. I wash mine, then hers, though she has not asked me to. I check the gate with my hand even after the security panel confirms it is locked.
The radio speaks quietly about rising water along the river.
Four rooms away, Celeste moves across the guest bedroom. Floorboards creak once, then stop.
I enter the office and close the door.
The safe opens beneath my hand.
Her execution order lies inside, folded through the middle.
I take it out and read the conditions again.
Then I place it back, close the safe, and activate the lock.
The system records the action.
Because Celeste is now a primary user, her phone will receive notice that the office safe was accessed at 10:47 p.m.
I could disable that notification.
I leave it active.
It is not the truth.
For tonight, it is the closest thing I give her.