His twirling slowed. “You’re afraid of something.”

He held the fork out to me, but for a long moment I couldn’t think to take it. I wanted to run. Hide behind the wall. Put on an extra shirt. Anything to hide what he was seeing … anything to hide my soul.

I never could summon the will to take the fork from him, and so he laid it on my plate with a glassy tink. He leaned back into his own chair, his mouth twitching—whether from a smile or a grimace, I couldn’t tell. “I thought I would like having company for dinner, but you’re just a little storm cloud, aren’t you. Don’t you know how to have fun?”

“Fun?” I repeated, still a bit disoriented.

“Yes, fun. What do you enjoy?”

I blinked a few times to be sure I wasn’t imagining this entire evening. I had emotional whiplash, not to mention I hadn’t even tasted a bite of this impossible-to-eat food. “Is there a point you’re trying to make, sir?”

“Point? I’m making conversation.”

I gripped the arms of my chair, digging my nails into the cold wood, and took a deep breath. Part of me knew he was right, the other was sick of his constant, invasive questions. But he had gifted me those chocolates. He was trying. I could at least meet him halfway. “I enjoy constructing amulets.”

“How old are you—fifty?—that all you enjoy is work?”

“You asked. I answered.”

Magnus held up his hands. “No need to get defensive. I’ve just never met someone who doesn’t have, you know, hobbies.”

I locked my jaw, shutting myself up before the words could flow out of me.

I was good with a knife because I had no choice. Quiet on my feet to stay out of sight, to avoid adversaries I knew I couldn’t overpower. Every skill I’d learned was to increase my chances of survival. But how could a boy who spent hours drawing pictures and playing music simply because he enjoyed it ever understand my point of view?

Magnus leaned over to my plate again, lifting my fork.

“May I?” he asked, and held up the pasta toward my mouth. I froze for a moment. Was he really trying to practice gursha now, when I felt so conflicted and annoyed? On the other hand, a sweet gesture of friendship was a nice distraction from this conversation.

I accepted the mouthful of food. I lingered to enjoy the slightly sweet and nutty smell of his skin—or his sweater?—compared to the savory flavor in my mouth, but embarrassment knocked the sense back into me and I moved away to chew.