Elara didn't take the anklet off. Not yet. If she stripped it now, he would know she was onto him. She had to play the game. She wiped her eyes, took a shaky breath, and stepped out of the shadows just as Caleb rounded the corner of the stairs.
He looked different. His shirt was untucked, his hair a mess, but his eyes—they were back to that calm, honey-brown that used to make her feel safe. The predatory flash from the study was gone, replaced by a look of deep concern.
"Elara, babe," he said, reaching out for her. "You ran off so fast. You okay? You looked like you saw a ghost in the doorway."
She let him take her hand. His skin was warm, but it felt like ice against hers. "I... I just felt dizzy, Caleb. The tea. I think the scent of the jasmine was too strong."
She watched him closely. Not a flinch. Not a blink. He just rubbed his thumb over her knuckles in that soothing way he always did.
"You've been working too hard on the pack gala preparations," he murmured, pulling her into a hug. He tucked her head under his chin, but all Elara could smell was that rotting lily scent on his collar. It was faint, but it was there. "I told you to rest."
"I saw a scarf in there," she said, her voice small, testing the waters. "On the chair. It looked like the one from your car. The crimson one."
Caleb pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. He gave a little half-smile, the kind that usually made her melt. "The Crescent Moon samples again? I told you, Elara, the elders are being pushy about the trade deal. One of their messengers was in here dropping off more fabrics. They are a nightmare to deal with."
"A woman?" she asked, keeping it light, like she was just curious.
"Yeah, some junior diplomat," he said, dismissive as he began to lead her back toward their bedroom. "I didn't even catch her name. She was gone before I could even offer her a seat. Why? You getting jealous of fabric reps now?"
He chuckled, a sound that used to be music to her ears. Now, it sounded like a funeral bell.
He was lying so effortlessly. He was looking her right in the face and erasing the image of him pressed against that desk. Elara forced herself to giggle, a hollow, dry sound.
"Maybe a little," she lied back.
"Don't be," he whispered, kissing the top of her head as he opened their bedroom door. "You are the only woman who matters in this house. You know that."
As he turned to close the door, Elara looked down at the silver anklet on her leg. He thought he was the one in control. He thought he was the one playing her. But as she climbed into the bed they shared, she realized the hunt hadn't started yet. The interrogation had.