Chris huffed a frustrated laugh. "What, are you regretting investing in something broken? I've never had a heat."
For a moment Dax just watched him, expression unreadable. Then he reached for his wine, took a slow sip and set the glass down again. "No," he said finally, his voice even. "I'm not regretting anything. And you're not broken."
Chris looked away, jaw tight. "That's what people say when they're being polite."
"Do I look like a polite man?" Dax asked. The faintest glint of humor cut through the seriousness of his tone. "Plus, I assume you never stopped taking suppressants until now."
Chris's fingers curled around his fork. "…No," he admitted after a beat. "Not until you kidnapped me. I didn't dare."
Dax's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Kidnapped," he repeated, rolling the word slowly as if tasting it. "You make it sound like I dragged you off the street in chains."
