"You are absolutely about to offer me something terrible."
Nero looked at her for a moment.
Then he smiled.
The restaurant seemed to dim around him, though Sylvia knew it had not. The candles still burned in their small crystal holders. The city still glimmered beyond the window in layered gold and white. The servers still moved with careful grace between tables occupied by people too wealthy to raise their voices.
Hale stood near the entrance to the private section, turned slightly away, far enough that he could see Nero clearly and hear nothing.
That, Sylvia realized, had not been accidental.
Nero had chosen the table, the distance, and the moment when Hale, loyal and dangerous and too well-trained to intrude, would become a presence rather than a witness.
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.
"No," Nero said. "Not absolutely."
Sylvia stared at him. "That is not reassuring."
"It is accurate."
"That is worse."
