He reached out and plucked the end of her T-shirt, rubbing the soft material between his fingers. “You haven’t changed clothing.”
She snatched her shirt back and pressed it against her hip to keep him from grabbing at it again. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but curse herself for the mistake. She hadn’t even thought to change, but that was because she hadn’t intended to sneak out, not until the opportunity had presented itself. It didn’t make sense for Olena to continue wearing Kint colors, especially not here in her own castle.
“It’s comfortable,” she stated, which wasn’t a lie. One hundred percent cotton all the way. “And I’ve got—”
“Gotten used to it?” he cut her off, a single blond brow lifting in challenge. His eyes homed in on her, the interest there more frightening than his ire from earlier on the ship had been.
The sound of approaching footsteps cut off anything else he was going to say, and he turned his head toward the direction she’d come. His expression altered, annoyance setting in and turning his gaze to ice. It was that frozen look that Gibus ended up turning the corner and walking in on.
The Sutter stilled instantly, eyes widening and then snapping between the two of them. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again. His lab coat was slightly wrinkled, and his curly hair was in disarray. He’d clearly been lost in thought just then, and it was taking him a moment to put the pieces together.
“I didn’t realize there was anyone else here,” he said finally, shaking himself out of his stupor. He bowed to them. “Apologies, Zane Trystan. Lissa Olena.”
“That’s all right, Gibus.” Delaney moved to him, making sure to keep her steps brisk but as casual as she could manage at the same time. It was a struggle not to outright run. “I’m actually glad you’re here. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.” She waved a finger at their surroundings. “Save me from having to go through any more of these books.”
“Questions?” He blinked at her, then understanding dawned and he cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, of course. I’d be happy to help in any way I can.”
“Wonderful.” She stepped toward the row of stacks he’d just come from. “Why don’t you escort me back to my rooms? We can talk as we go.”
Trystan watched their exchange closely, moving to prop his shoulder against one of the stacks almost absently. He wasn’t fooling anyone, though; the wired way he held himself, muscles tensed and ready, was indicator enough that he was prepared for anything.
“Off so soon, Lissa?” he asked evenly.
Now that escape was actually possible, she refrained from returning with a biting comment. Instead she nodded at Trystan and grabbed Gibus’s arm in a silent plea to get on with it.
“Good night, Zane.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, the two of them turned the corner and moved out of sight. She didn’t breathe again until they were out in the dark hallway, leaving Trystan and the labyrinthine stacks far behind.
*
“WHAT ARE YOU doing out here?” Gibus asked five minutes later. He’d kindly given her time to collect herself, but was now full of questions; she could see them in the set of his mouth and the flare in his eyes.
“I told you,” she said breathlessly, still a bit shaken from her encounter with the Zane. “I was looking for answers.”
“Answers?” His frown deepened. “To anything specific?”
“To everything,” she stated. After having been in the heated library all this time, the hallways were now like an icebox, and she rubbed at her arms. She had no clue where they were going, and was forced to trust that Gibus was leading her back to Olena’s rooms, though she refused to ask outright. “I assume you’ve heard?”
“About your indefinite stay?” he guessed, and he at least had the decency to appear guilty. His cheeks even heated some, reddening enough that she noticed every time they passed under a light. “Yes.”
“So then help me,” she said, waving a hand at him, her frustration welling. “You are part of the reason I’m in this mess.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“If I’m going to be her, I need to know her, at least a little. Who is she?” She stopped him when he went to speak. “Besides a raging bitch.”
While he openly pondered this question, she inspected him. He wasn’t like the others: He wore every thought and emotion that crossed through him on his face. She could see him going through the range of them: contemplation, distaste, eureka, etc.
He wasn’t as tall, either, something she’d noticed before, but now, standing next to him, that fact became even more apparent. Probably around six feet, which still left him a few inches shorter than even Pettus. He smelled a bit like mint, though it was subtle and hit her only whenever they turned a corner, forcing them closer to each other.
“Ruckus said Olena was able to steal the device because she hung out with you in your lab on the ship,” she reminded him, remembering this detail herself. “You had to have spent time with her.”
He snorted. “She only went there to get away from him. She complained he pried too much, that he wouldn’t give her space to breathe, which, you know, is pretty much his job. Sometimes she’d feign interest in my work, ask me things using big words she clearly didn’t understand, but at least then I could talk and pretend like what I was saying wasn’t falling on deaf ears. Otherwise, it was just my listening to her whine.”
“Not the first person to tell me she’s a whiner.” Which wasn’t good, because Delaney hadn’t whined a day in her life. Tantrums, even as a child, hadn’t been her thing. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
“If you can’t do it,” he said then, as if having read her mind, “that’s okay. Five years away will change a person, even a person like Olena. None of us would have thought her capable of pulling something like”—he motioned at her body—“this off. Not in a billion years. Just don’t show an interest in anyone. Let them approach you if they must, but never approach them.”
“Yeah,” she said with a grunt, “not a problem.” The last thing she planned on was walking up to a random alien and starting a conversation.
“From what I’m gathering,” she continued, “Olena doesn’t have many friends. Should I even be concerned about people trying to talk to her?” Trystan’s words about conversations not really even being conversations filtered through her mind. Hopefully that part had been true. If Olena was a terrible conversationalist, no one would expect much talking out of her.
“My guess is they’ll avoid you as often as possible,” he confirmed, smiling at her relieved exhale.
“Pettus told me a story,” she suggested, hoping he’d get the hint.
“Well, she stole that device—an illegal prototype that no one was supposed to ever know about—knowing full well that it could get me killed for treason, so”—he stared at her pointedly—“you already know the worst she’s done to me.”