Chapter 19 · Nobody's Holding the Door

"Ten." Rhys's voice again, dry as paper, dropping out of a speaker grille I still couldn't find. "Nine."

The air in the vault had a taste now. Metal and something used-up, like breathing through a straw somebody'd already chewed twice. My chest pulled for it and got less back every time.

Vale's hand was still on my jaw. Not gripping. Just resting there, thumb along the bone, like he could hold my face together by will alone. His eyes dropped once — to the torn collar at my throat, to the bruise coming up dark on my wrist where he'd grabbed it in front of the whole floor — and something moved behind them that wasn't fear. It was closer to fury.

"Don't answer him," Vale said. Low. Right against my hair.

"Eight."

"He's not bluffing about the air," I said. My voice came out thin, scraped raw. "He's never bluffed in his life. That's the whole damn problem with him."

"Gia." Rhys, patient, like he was talking a kid down off a ledge he'd built himself. "Say it on the record. Say Vale Keene has no claim on you. That's all I need. Seven.