"You have something of mine," Balthier says, all suave and smooth confidence. He takes a step forward, holding out a hand.

Locke takes a step back, a smirk playing across his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about." The ring -- a plain platinum band -- grows warm in his fist. He keeps both hands behind his back.

"I think you do," Balthier says, and he comes closer.

Locke backs up into the wall. Nowhere to go, now -- except if he turned and ran. That would mean admitting guilt. More importantly, it would mean turning his back on Balthier. "It's not yours," Locke says.

Balthier smiles. "It's not yours, either."

"So it's no one's. Seems to me like it's ripe for the taking."

"And you took it."

Balthier is right in front of him now; Locke has to look up at him. "And you want it back."

"No, that's not what I want."

And Locke knows now, he knows -- but he makes Balthier work for it. "Then why are you pestering me?"

Balthier leans over, planting one hand against the wall on either side of Locke's head. When he speaks, Locke can feel the warmth of his breath. "Because I want you to know that I know you stole it." He licks his bottom lip. "You th--"

Locke kisses him before he can say the word.