“Yes.”

Her answer is dry, as cold as her blood is red.

“I was excruciatingly busy doing all kinds of important whoop-de-doo shit.”

She should stab him with a needle, for both looking at her like she was a piece of the strangely uneaten meat lying around his room and for asking an offensive question. He had a lot of nerve. Too bad jamming a pointy device through his chest wouldn’t spare her from the trillions of sweeps she had left in his servitude.

Ugh.

No, she would just pretend it was not him.

They were two entirely different people. This man was not and would never be her master. He was just a stupid, puny boy who now stood a head shorter than she did.

“Stop staring at me.”