Back at the estate, the silence between Arm and Mild was no longer filled with the heat of an argument, but the heavy weight of a difficult decision. Arm was pacing the length of the bedroom, his phone already out as he prepared to coordinate a full security detail for the New York trip.
"I've already contacted the flight crew for the Gulfstream," Arm said, his voice clipped. "And I've reserved the entire top floor of the Pierre. My security lead will be with you in the taxi, and I'll be following on a separate flight four hours later."
"Arm, stop," Mild said softly, stepping in front of him and placing his hands on Arm's chest. "Put the phone down."
Arm stopped, looking down at Mild with eyes full of a protective, almost desperate intensity. "I don't trust Zen, Mild. I saw the way he looked at you. He's an archer—he waits for an opening. I won't give him one."
