Her silence, His Empire

His eyes narrow. "You said her name."
"Yes."
"That wasn't necessary."
I meet his gaze, unblinking. "Neither was threatening her."
Silence stretches between us. Heavy. Dangerous.
I don't know why I care about her name or who she is. I simply just think she's interesting.
Volkov doesn't like being challenged, especially not in his own house, even worse by someone like me who has more power over him. But he knows better than to push.
"She's emotional," he says finally. "Unstable."
A lie. Or at least a convenient one.
"She's observant," I reply. "And she doesn't fear you the way she should."
That earns me a sharp look.
"She will," he says coldly.
I don't miss the way his jaw tightens when he says it.
And there it is: The weakness Volkov doesn't realize he's showing.
"She's not a child anymore," I add. "And she's not a pawn."
She's been shaped by loss. By exile. By men who confuse control with protection.
I recognize it because I've lived it.