Linda gasped, but not in surprise.
In warning.
As if I had made him do it.
My hip struck the counter and pain shot bright across my side.
The silverware drawer rattled open.
Spoons spilled across the floor in a scattered metallic clatter that sounded absurdly domestic.
That was the detail that stayed with me.
Not the shove.
Not the cuffs.
The spoons.
Tiny ordinary things suddenly everywhere.
Silas moved with the confidence of a man who had done rough things before and been believed afterward.
He twisted my arms behind me.
The cuffs clicked once.
Then again.
Cold metal tightened around my wrists.
The bite was familiar enough to be almost insulting.
I had been restrained in training exercises more controlled than Silas’s temper.
I let my breath settle low.
He expected struggle.
I gave him stillness.
Stillness made men like him nervous, but it also made them talk.
