Chapter 13 · Cold Lock

His mouth is two inches from mine when the lights come back on.

Full white. Ceiling wash. No mercy in it.

Marcus doesn't step back. He stays right there, breath warm across my chin, eyes moving over my face like he's hunting for a clause he missed.

"Say it again," he says.

"Say what."

"That you're not scared of me."

"I'm not." My lip splits open when I say it. I bit through it in the car an hour ago — the cramp came out of nowhere, I folded over the seat belt, my teeth went through. I'm not thinking about the cramp. I'm not.

"You're bleeding."

His thumb comes up. Slow. I could turn my head. I don't. He drags it along the corner of my mouth, looks at the red on his skin, and his jaw goes hard as concrete.

"Elevators," I say.

"Six a.m."

The words land in my stomach like a swallowed stone. "You can't do that."

"I can. It's my building."

"It's a leash."

"It's a door." He walks around the desk, sets his phone down face first. "Doors open. Doors close. Doors keep out what's coming.