Then he pulled his hand back.
Composure back in place. Eyes steady. Face doing what his face always did.....giving nothing away, showing nothing, the perfect controlled surface of a man who had decided a long time ago that the world didn't get to see inside him.
But she'd seen.
Just for that one second. She'd seen it.
He stood up.
She called his name.
He stopped and turned back to look at her.
She looked at him from the bed. The cover pulled around her.
"Your eyes," she said. "When it happened. That wasn't you."
"No," he said.
"Who was it."
He looked at her for a long moment.
The kind of look that meant he was deciding something. Weighing something. Choosing exactly how much to give and what to keep.
"Someone who has been waiting a very long time," he said.
He held her gaze for one more second.
Then he walked out.
She sat there after the door closed.
Her hand went back to her throat.
The mark was warm under her fingers. Steady and definitely permanent.
