“Why are you in my room?”“Because I can be.”“You shouldn’t be.”“Save it, Rochester. You broke my nose.”“Does it hurt?”He lifted a hand toward his face and dropped it. “You could say that.”“Good.”He nudged a tray on the floor with his boot. It had oatmeal, toast, and orange juice on it. “Hungry?”Honor’s stomach growled. “No.”Ryder’s lips turned up in a fleeting sadistic smile. He kicked the tray across the room. It hit the wall and overturned. “Good.”