MIA POV
He is still looking at her.
What are you looking for?
Four words. Simple. Quiet. Delivered without threat, without anger, without the cold edge she has been bracing against since day one. Just the question, sitting in the garden air between them like something he set down carefully and is waiting for her to pick up.
She doesn't pick it up yet.
She runs the calculation. Fast, the way she has learned to run everything fast, because slow thinking in this house is a luxury she has never been able to afford.
He knows about the cart. He has to otherwise he would not be here, would not be asking this particular question in this particular way. He is not the kind of man who wanders into gardens and asks vague questions. Every word he uses is chosen. She has watched him long enough to know that.
So, he knows.
Which means the question is not really what are you looking for. The question is how much will you tell me. How much do you trust me. Where is your line.
