Maboroshi moved too smoothly to ever stalk, and he would certainly never stoop to actually slamming a door. He couldn’t quite resist sending his dagger flying into the wall, however.

“If that’s the way you express your temper, it’s no wonder your people believe you capable of treason.”

Maboroshi spun, another dagger already in hand, and came face-to-face with Nathan, who regarded him with a level gaze. Beating back a blush, Maboroshi pocketed the dagger. “What are you doing in my room at,” he glanced at the clock, “three thirty-five in the morning?”

“What were you doing in Heizhan’s room a half-hour ago?”

“Is that really any of your business?”

Nathan sighed, almost inaudibly. He glanced at Maboroshi’s bleeding hand. “You might want to take care of that.”

“Stop dodging my question.”

The sigh was louder this time. Nathan pulled a roll of bandages from his pocket and expertly bound Maboroshi’s wounded hand. “That should hold it until morning, at least. The cuts aren’t that bad.”

Maboroshi said nothing. The silence stretched over long minutes.

“Needling a serial killer is generally not considered wise.”

Maboroshi’s head snapped around; Nathan’s hand gripped his chin before he could retort, forcing the smaller man to meet his eyes. “He is a dangerous man, Maboroshi. If anything, his time in the Phantom Islands has only made him more dangerous.”

“I know that,” Maboroshi said when Nathan released him. “That’s the whole problem. I don’t trust him.”

“I know you don’t,” Nathan said softly. “No one does.”

“Then why are you keeping him around?” Maboroshi hissed.

The smile that flickered across Nathan’s face would not have been out of place on a shark. “Because I am more dangerous still.”