The scalpel stopped moving. He held it by the tip, extending it toward Alys.
"Lift your chin."
Alys obeyed. The cold metal pressed against her skin, right over her jugular.
"Elena sold me a mute," Gustaf said, his voice low and dangerous. "But you have a lot to say with your eyes."
Alys trembled. She made sure he felt it-the vibration of fear traveling through the blade to his fingers.
He leaned forward. He sniffed.
"Sage," he murmured. "And... sea salt."
His eyes narrowed. He remembered the smell.
He grabbed Alys's wrist. His grip was iron. He was feeling for a pulse, for the calluses of a fighter, or maybe the gun oil from a weapon.
Alys had to break the moment.
She let her knees buckle. She pitched forward, flailing.
Her hand swept across the desk, knocking over the cup of steaming tea. The hot liquid splashed directly onto his lap.
If he were paralyzed, he wouldn't flinch.
But his thigh muscles jumped. A microscopic reaction, instantly suppressed.
Alys fell to her knees, her hands landing on his legs. She pressed her thumb into the inside of his thigh-a pressure point.
He grunted. A sharp intake of breath.
He felt it.
"Clumsy," he snarled, pushing Alys away.
She scrambled back, wiping at the tea with her sleeve, hiding her face. Hiding the smirk.
Got you.
Gustaf stared at Alys. He was calculating. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of white fabric. It was torn, stained with mud and blood.
"Have you seen this before?" he asked.
It was a piece of Alys's hospital gown.
She looked at it blankly. She shook her head.
He studied her face for a long time. The silence stretched, tight as a piano wire.
"You're moving in here," he said suddenly.
Alys froze. She shook her head frantically. No.
"I don't trust you out of my sight," he said. "Your things are already being moved to the suite."
That night, Alys lay on a rug at the foot of his massive bed.
The room was dark. She could hear his breathing. It was steady, rhythmic.
Alys knew he wasn't asleep. She knew he had a gun under his pillow.
She waited until 3:00 AM.
Alys rolled over, silent as smoke. She crawled toward the nightstand where his laptop sat charging.
She didn't open it. That would trigger an alert.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the USB charger she'd modified in the greenhouse. It looked like a standard cable, but inside the casing was a keylogger.
She unplugged his cable. She plugged hers in.
The bathroom door opened.
Alys froze.
Gustaf stood there, wrapped in a towel. Water dripped from his hair onto his chest. He was looking right at her.
Alys snatched a book from the nightstand-The Art of War. She held it up, looking innocent.
He stared at her, then at the book.
"You read Sun Tzu?" he asked.
Alys shrugged. She pointed to the cover art.
He walked past her. He flicked his wet hair, sending a spray of cold water onto her face.
"Don't drool on the carpet," he said.
He got into bed.
Alys lay back down, her heart thumping against the floorboards.
The keylogger was in. The Trojan Horse was inside the walls of Troy.
