The study was warm and smelled of pipe tobacco and old wood, Atlas suspected it always would regardless of what happened in it. His father sat behind the desk with the particular stillness of a man who had already decided the shape of a conversation before it started.
"We haven't checked on her once," Atlas said. "Not since the wedding. Not a single visit."
Donovan didn't look up from the paper in his hand. "There's no reason to."
"She tried to run, Father. They know that. The Varkis family, Valentino specifically, doesn't strike me as someone who lets that kind of thing go without consequence. What if she's being punished for it? What if they've—"
"She's fine."
Atlas looked at him. "You don't know that."
"I do, actually." Donovan set the paper down and folded his hands over it with the composed patience of a man who finds the conversation mildly tedious. "They've been sending reports on her health and conduct since the second week. Consistent, detailed. She's being kept well."
