Nikita’s brows jumped up to his hairline, though.
Val reached out like he meant to lean over the table and pick it up, but checked himself. He wasn’t really here. Pain flickered across his face, there and gone again, and then he wiped his features clean.
“Val,” Trina said, gentler this time. “Help us find Sasha – find both of you. And maybe we can help somehow.”
His eyes stayed locked on the bell, his voice flat. “You could never get me free. It’s impossible.”
“We could try.”
“The bell.”
“What?”
“I want the bell.” His gaze lifted, free of all mockery and cruelty this time. Plaintive. Weary. “Don’t try to…just. The bell. Please.”
She nodded. “Alright.”
He took a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders. Settled into a persona that she suspected – or at least hoped – was his real one, and not an over the top act. “You shouldn’t come. That would be a really stupid idea. You’d be captured immediately.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But we’ve gotta try.”
He sighed, long-suffering. “Your funeral. The baroness has been able to assist me with a little reconnaissance…”
