"You shouldn't be here," Rook said—his voice hard, the kind of cold that made the blood in my veins go quiet. I'd heard that tone before; it meant he'd made a decision and the room was dangerous because of it. My skin prickled even though I could not see the men set like shadows around us.
The stranger's laugh was a dry thing. "You don't tell me where to be," he said, voice smooth and indifferent. "I was given an order. I was not dismissed." It was casual, the way someone would say the weather was mild. He was not casual.
Rook answered slow, dangerous. He didn't like lying. He didn't like threats. "You do not give him orders," he told the man. The man's laugh sliced the space between them.
"I'm not here for pleasantries," the stranger said. His words were deliberate. "Hand over the human and I will leave."
