He doesn't look up.
The shirt hangs between us, forgotten. His fingers tighten around the fabric. Waiting.
A teasing smile curls at the corners of my mouth.
Let's push him a little.
I smooth the smile away before it settles too deeply. Straighten my features into something calm. Measured. Something that doesn't betray the amusement flickering behind my ribs.
Almost indifferent. The kind of face that doesn't give anything away.
"Help me put it on."
Silas blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Slowly—like a man surfacing from deep water, like each eyelid weighs more than it should—his gaze lifts. His eyes meet mine. Wide. Uncertain. Caught somewhere between shock and confusion, between did I hear that right and why would you ask me that.
For a long moment, he doesn't move.
Doesn't breathe.
Just stares.
The silence stretches between us, thin as thread, fragile as glass. The office around us seems to hold its breath. The couch beneath me. The walls. The city beyond the glass.
I break it.
