I shook my head, having little clue where this was all going.
Senna patted my leg again. “He’ll be here soon,” she said, leaving out any clarification of who this “him” was.
But her words had been prescient. No more than ten minutes later, the door to the office where Senna and I sat swung open.
The man who walked in was unlike any I had ever seen before. He was tall, imposingly so, and even though he wore a perfectly tailored suit, I could still see the thick, heavy muscles of his body. His hair was light brown, maybe blond, but I couldn’t tell because it had been shorn close to his scalp.
His rigid posture and impeccable dress reminded me of Priest, but the similarity ended there.
With Priest, even in those first terrifying moments, I had sensed something warm, something human.
This man had none.
Heart pounding, I forced myself to look at his face and then worked even harder not to recoil. He wasn’t handsome, his features too hard, face too craggy for him to be considered that. But his looks, or lack thereof, were nothing when compared with the icy expression on his face.
In fact, that was a misstatement. To call his expression icy would be to suggest he had an expression. He didn’t. His face was a blank slate, no warmth, not even the warmth of anger. Just nothingness, a sense that was reflected in the iciness of his eyes.
I stood, not exactly sure where that impulse came from, but doing so made me feel like I was at less of a disadvantage, though I knew full well that feeling was an illusion.
Senna stood too, but the man didn’t even seem to notice her and instead kept his eyes trained on me.
“Who are you?” he asked when he stood closer to me.
His face still had no expression, but he watched me, was studying me in a way that was beyond unnerving.
“Milan,” I finally managed to say around the fear that had clogged my throat. “Milan Meadows.”
“And why are you here, Milan Meadows?”
I laughed, the sound shrill, nervous, unhinged.
It got no reaction at all from the room’s newest addition, who just stood watching, studying, waiting.
“I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I know here is the Simpson Building, but I’m not really sure where here actually is. What you do here, I mean,” I said.
I was babbling now, but desperate for this man’s help, I refocused. “Priest, Nikolai, he needs you,” I said.
“What makes you think I know of this Priest?” the man asked.
“He said he was coming here,” I said.
“He told you that?” the man asked, the faintest hint of something in his face for less than a split second before he closed down again.
“Yes, but that’s not important. What’s important is a guy has him. He’s handcuffed to a pipe. You have to go to him,” I said, frantic now.
“And do what?” he asked, his expression showing the faintest curiosity.
“I don’t know. Stop it. Do something!” I said my voice rising. I needed to keep my cool if I had any hope of helping him, but doing so was growing harder with every second that ticked by.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
“No. I have no idea. And I don’t care. Except I think you can help him, keep him from dying.”
“I do know Nikolai, and rest assured, if he’s there, it’s because he agreed to be. He can handle his own affairs. Why should I intervene?”
The way the man asked the question suggested genuine but detached curiosity, like I hadn’t just told him that Priest was handcuffed to a pipe. Like Priest wasn’t facing certain death, like he hadn’t put himself in that position and all to save me.
“Because!” I said, not caring about my outburst and ignoring Senna’s warning hand on my arm. “All the things that are probably happening to him right now. You can stop them.”
“Yes. I could, if I was so inclined,” he said.
Then he turned, left, and closed a gate after him. When I heard the door click shut, I ran toward it.
“Stop,” Senna said. She’d followed me to the door. “We’ll stay here.”
Then she put her hand against my elbow again and led me back to the small lounge where we had been sitting. She watched me, hand still on me, and it was only after I had met her gaze that she let me go.
“You care about Priest,” she said.
“I don’t care about him. I love him.”
I’d never said those words to him, hadn’t even said them to myself, but they were true.
“I know. You wouldn’t have come here otherwise,” she said.
“I meant what I said. I don’t really know where here is, but I assume that was ‘him’?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes. Maxim.”