“What did the doctor say?”
“I didn’t go,” she confessed.
Shaw cursed and snatched up his palm. “I’ll have Dr. Booth here immediately. I want you checked out before—”
“No. I’ll see my own doctor this morning.”
“No, you’re seeing Dr. Booth now. I should have ordered one of my men to drive you straight to Randolph General. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your bruises tell a different story. They’re darker than a Bullstow rose. What if your neck had swollen and closed off your windpipe?”
“It didn’t. I’ll see my doctor later, but right now we have a job to do. Stop treating me as if I’m a child,” she said, her words spoiled by her hoarse voice.
“Fine. I’ll get you something hot to drink.” He hesitated at the door, as though worried about leaving her alone.
Eventually, he darted away.
Lila crossed a leg over her knee and watched the map light up, hundreds of little flashes like firecrackers bursting overhead. Hundreds of blackcoats keying in burglaries and car accidents and trespassers…
And assaults and attempted murders.
She’d been a flicker of light on Shaw’s map the night before.
She’d been a flicker of light on Shaw’s map for a very long time, one of the many blackcoats keying in crimes, oblivious to the clock ticking down her own time.
Lila bit her lip and watched the morning’s story unfurl before her eyes.
She didn’t realize that tears had begun running down her cheek until it was too late. She wiped them away with the cuff of her sweater and snatched up the remote from Shaw’s desk, turning the whole map off.
A white wall stared back at her, blank now, with not even a framed picture to adorn it.
Slipping into the bathroom, she fixed her makeup as best she could and returned to her chair. It wouldn’t do for anyone to know that an heir had shed a tear, a judge for the High Council, no less. Such women were supposed to know everything, to point the country in the right direction, to ensure everyone in their care had enough work and that their family made enough money for food, for healthcare, for shelter.
Leaders didn’t cry. They were too busy leading.
Lila stared at the empty wall.
Shaw returned moments later with three lidded cups, all as large as her head. He said nothing about the map; a slight pause in his step was the only evidence he’d even noticed it.
“Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate?” he asked. “I didn’t know which one yo
u might like, so I just got all of them.”
Lila grabbed one at random and smiled as the warmth spread down her throat. Only milk had been added to the tea, which was how she liked it.
Shaw nodded, clearly pleased that he had done something helpful. “When you’re ready, I should take photos for the report.” His eyes fell upon the camera on his desk.
“Let’s get it over with,” she replied, putting down her cup.
Shaw picked up the camera while Lila took off her coat and backed against the bare wall. He directed her how to turn so that he could get adequate coverage of the bruises on her neck and jaw, not that she needed the instructions. The camera emitted an obnoxious, dead click whenever it captured a shot. She’d done the same as Shaw before, asking someone to pose their broken body for the camera. She’d never thought much about it then. She’d never realized how much an intrusion it was, how much it pained her to know that La Roux’s file would preserve the memory of the attack, long after her bruises had healed.
But the formalities had to be observed.
She knew that.
She even lifted her shirt so that he could photograph the bruises on her ribs and stomach, though the act was almost worse than receiving the blows themselves. At least the chief had not photographed anything above her mouth.