"Say her name," Hugo whispered as his eyes snapped open.
Jordan froze with one sleeve in her hand. The room swam for a second and then tightened into the shape of the bed, the lamp, the polished mahogany of the headboard. He smelled like menthol and antiseptic and old money. He smelled like a man who had been kept alive by machines and men in white coats.
"Say who?" Jordan asked, and kept her voice steady.
"Say her name," Hugo repeated, harder. His fingers tightened on the sheet. He didn't speak like a man who woke up confused. He spoke like a man who had been waiting.
Jordan slid the sleeve down slower. She was supposed to be quick. She was supposed to finish and leave before anyone noticed. The contract in her bag said a hundred reasons why she should not be seen by the family beyond this room. It also said the price for failure.
"You're trembling," the housekeeper said from the doorway. "Finish before the—"
Hugo's hand lashed out. He grabbed Jordan's wrist, his grip small and precise. He didn't yank. He didn't shout. He cut off the housekeeper's final words.
"Who sent you?" he asked, and his voice was cold enough to bite.
"I—" Jordan's mouth closed. She had three seconds. She thought of Lina's small face from memory. She thought of the list of dos and don'ts tattooed in her head. She thought of the
