Marcus' POV
They called it the necessary kind of distance.
What they never called it was placement.
I understood that part very clearly later.
Much later.
The chamber Beatrice was led into was smaller than I expected. That wasn't just an accident. Small rooms control posture. They force attention inward. They limit pacing. They make confrontations unavoidable.
I was already standing when she entered.
I didn't move toward her.
That mattered too.
She stopped just inside the threshold. I watched her catalog, the space, the way she always had walls first, exits second, people last.
Her gaze hit me only after she had confirmed that there was nowhere else it could safely land.
Her breath caught.
Just once.
Good.
Not because I wanted to hurt her but because it meant she was still honest. Shock hadn't been trained out of her yet.
"Marcus," she said.
Not my title.
Not my rank.
My name.
It landed like a blade pressed flat against the skin.
"You look alive," she added.
