Ángel’s mouth and throat were dry as he said, “And you can trust her. To keep you alive. That’s her real job. Not forwarding my mail.”

“Her malingering made you think that your friends forgot your birthday, and as a result you felt abandoned and estranged. Do you deny this?”

“No. I just— Don’t fire her, Oberon. It’s not that big a deal.”

The air smelled dry and hot, like burning salt. Chandler audibly swallowed. Oberon said softly, “You and I both know that isolation is a big deal. I would minimize yours as much as possible. I can’t do that if Chandler is deliberately undermining my wishes.” The last sentence came out like the crack of a whip, snapping across Chandler’s face, and she flinched.

Ángel clenched his teeth. He forced himself to reach out and brushed his fingertips to the back of Oberon’s hand. “That’s too much,” he said. “Oberon. Let it go.”

Oberon went perfectly still at Ángel’s touch. Ángel ran his fingers down over Oberon’s knuckles, squeezed Oberon’s fingers, very gently, and then let go. “Bring it down. Please. Chandler’s sorry. She won’t do it again.”

“I require that she do as she’s told,” Oberon said, but much of the power of his voice was now leashed.

“Remember the riot at the Tiepolo Ballroom?” asked Ángel. “She had a plan. She kept calm. She kept you safe, evacuated the building, kept the place from burning down. Only seven injuries, right? She’s really good. The thing with the package is not as important. Let it go, Oberon.”

Oberon stared at him for a long moment. The only sound was Chandler’s trembling breathing; she sounded like she was trying not to cry. Ángel kept his eyes averted from her, not wanting to witness her humiliation.

“You are the one injured by her actions, Ángel,” said Oberon at last, “so in this instance I will let you decide. But if anything like this happens again—”

“It won’t,” said Chandler softly.

“No.” He gave her one last glare, infused his voice with glinting steel. “Go back to the gatehouse, then. The package from Marissa will be here soon?”

“Immediately, sir.”

“All right,” growled Oberon.

Chandler threw a fast, wild-eyed glance at Ángel and escaped.

Oberon and Ángel stood there in the dining room for a while after the front door slammed behind her. The air around Oberon hummed with tension, smelled like chalk dust and ozone. Weirdly, Ángel was worried about him, rather than afraid of him. Bring it down, Oberon.

In a light tone, Ángel said, “Well, holy shit. That was scary as fuck.”