Cassien didn't move. He didn't even blink. He just stared at me like he knew exactly who I was.
"What exactly are you looking for, Samantha?"
My mouth went dry. My brain was short of words to use. Time felt like it stopped. Like someone had hit pause on the universe.
"I was just…" I started, then he stopped me before I could say more.
Cassien raised an eyebrow. "Lost? Snooping? Or just bored?"
Okay, rude. But also, I probably deserved that.
"I was just looking around," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "Your house is huge. I've never been in a mansion before."
He didn't say anything. Just kept staring.
"You brought me here, remember?" I added. "You didn't exactly give a tour."
He still didn't move.
I looked down at my hands, picking at my sleeves like they could save me from this conversation. "It's not a crime to look at bookshelves."
Cassien finally turned away and walked over to the desk. "You're jumpy."
"No, I'm not."
"You twitch when you lie."
I looked up. "Excuse me?"
He sat down, opened his laptop, and didn't even bother to look at me. "You twitch. Your left shoulder. Barely noticeable. But it's there."
Okay, what the actual—
"Why are you even paying that much attention to me?" I blurted out.
"I don't," he said flatly. "But I notice patterns. And you break them."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just sat down across from him, trying really hard not to let my shoulder twitch again. Or scream at him. Or both.
We spent the next twenty minutes pretending to work on our psychology project. Except I wasn't thinking about the project at all. I was thinking about the file. The mission. The artifact. And whether Cassien was going to randomly accuse me of being a government spy with a fake scholarship and a fake name.
The silence was too much. Like the room itself was judging me.
Cassien typed something, then stopped. "What's your angle?"
I looked up, startled. "What?"
"You're not just some average psych major from nowhere. People like you don't end up here by accident."
People like me?
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, trying not to sound like my anger doubled.
He stared at the screen. "You ask too many questions. You're too quiet in the wrong moments. And you look at people like you're trying to solve them."
Okay, that last one stung. Because it was true. And he was one hundred percent onto me.
"I just like understanding people," I said quickly. "It's called being observant."
"No," he said, finally looking at me again. "It's called being dangerous."
My stomach dropped.
I stood up too fast. "I should go."
Cassien leaned back in his chair. "Yeah. Probably a good idea."
I grabbed my bag and headed toward the door, but something pulled me to glance back. Just for a second.
He was still staring. Still too calm. Too cold.
This wasn't just a guy with a bad attitude anymore.
This was someone who'd been trained to survive. And he wasn't going to be easily broken. I suddenly wasn't sure which one of us was actually spying on who.
I walked down the hallway fast, hoping to make it outside without bumping into anyone else. But of course my luck sucks, someone stepped out from the side hallway just as I passed.
I froze.
Matteo.
No mask. No hoodie this time. Just a dark t-shirt and those same calm eyes that made my stomach twist. He didn't say anything right away. Just watched me.
"Are you following me now?" I asked, trying to sound brave.
He tilted his head. "No. But you're about to go the wrong way."
"What?"
"You're walking toward the back gate. It's locked."
I looked behind me. Oh. Crap.
"Right," I muttered.
He walked past me like it was nothing. Like this wasn't weird at all. Like he didn't have a red warning label in the RedHalo files.
"You really don't want to be in this house after dark," he said quietly, almost to himself.
I blinked. "Why?"
He didn't answer. Just kept walking.
I caught up. "Why? What happens after dark?"
Matteo paused at the front door. "It's not just safe."
And before I could ask him what that even meant, a loud crash echoed from somewhere upstairs. Like glass shattering. Like someone throwing something. Or someone fighting.
Matteo didn't flinch. He just opened the door and looked at me.
"I'd leave now if I were you."