Page 31 of Knight

Evangeline

Knight turnsmy phone over in his hands like it’s a bomb that might go off at any second. The expression on his face is undecipherable, but tension radiates out from him.

“When did you say you bought this?”

“Two weeks ago.” I wrap my arms around my knees. I’m shaking again.Why can’t I stop shaking?“I dropped mine into the sink while I was doing dishes, and it wouldn’t turn back on.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Convenient timing.”

“What isthatsupposed to mean?”

“Did you tell your friend?”

“Yes.”

He sets the phone onto the coffee table with exaggerated care. “Did they suggest where to get a replacement from?”

I stare at him. Theyhad. They sent me a helpful link to a sale at a local electronics store, as well as a suggestion about which model would be the best for my budget and needs.

Knight reads the answer in my silence. “Of course they did.”

“That doesn’t meananything. People always make suggestions. It was just—” The protest dies in my throat. Nothing about this situation isjustanything anymore.

He picks up the phone again, studying it from all angles. “When you bought it … did they set it up in the store, or did you take it home to do it?”

I bite into my lip, thinking about all the late night messages explaining settings, suggesting apps, helping me to transfer my contacts.

“Stop it! You’re making it sound?—”

“Like someone spent weeks engineering every detail of your life?” His eyes don’t move away from the phone. “That’s exactly what happened. Every conversation. Every suggestion. Every piece ofhelpwas designed to get this phone into my apartment. If you hadn’t dropped it, you’d have lost it.Somethingwould have happened that required you buying a new one.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that people don’t typically spend weeks pretending to be someone else just so they can make a new friend.”

A bell chimes, and I almost jump out of my skin. Knight’s head jerks up, and swings around. Standing, he walks across to a door that has a small screen beside it. He taps it, then nods.

“Stay there.”

He says it like I have any choice in the matter, and moves to the door. Now his back is to me, I can see the gun in the holster at his back. It makes my stomach flip.

This is the real Knight. Not the supportive presence who sent me cat memes. Not the understanding voice who talked me through panic attacks. This man treats weapons like they’re extensions of his body, and phones like they’re potential threats.

I listen to the elevator as it descends. Even that sound sounds like it’s controlled, like everything else in this fortress he calls an apartment. My fingers dig into my knees as I wait.

Should I try to run? But where would I go? The only exit is via the elevator, and he’s using that.

Thereisnowhere for me to go, so I stay where I am, and Knight appears a few minutes later with a pizza box. The scent of pepperoni fills the air, and my treacherous stomach growls. I haven’t eaten since the rice he forced me to eat earlier. How long ago was that?

Moving with the same fluid efficiency he seems to do everything with, he sets the box onto the coffee table and flips it open. Two cans of soda are placed beside it. He slides one toward me.

“Eat, and drink.”

I look at the pizza, then at him, then back at the perfectly normal food sitting in the middle of this completely insane situation.

“What? No commentary about poison?” One corner of his mouth quirks up. “No accusations about drugging the pizza?”

“Would it matter if I did think that?”

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