Good thing, I’m not living.
“I like your spirit,” he says. Another one of his word plays. “My name's Talon. Less like a cockroach and more harp, deadly, and pretty fucking hot, if you ask me.”
“I wouldn't ask you,” I counter.
Talon chuckles, the sound smooth and easy. He really doesn’t have a care in the world despite the fact that we’re literally driving around with a truck full of dismembered body parts.
“Your loss, Little Grim,” he muses, tipping his head back against the seat. “I’m a man of many talents. You might come to appreciate me in time.”
“Doubtful.”
Wow. A self-obsessed killer, a cold, calculating one, and another who barely says a word. That’s my company now. And to think I used to complain about Pain.
Why am I even here? I should just end this conversation, fade out of the car, and go back to how things used to be.
But no. I linger. Why? Beats me. I justdo.
“For some reason, I called you Foxface the whole time,” I tell him. “In my head,” I add.
He raises an eyebrow, his smile showing off a flash of sharp, white teeth.
“Because of the hair?” He gestures to his burnt ginger stands.
“Because you seem like a shady bastard.” I mean, foxes are cool—beautiful creatures—but I’m feeling the urge to take a jab at him. Just enough to wipe that smirk off his face. Unfortunately for me, and my still-twisting stomach, that smile only deepens.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t,” I mutter.
Nathaniel takes a sharp turn, and I have to brace myself to keep from slipping out of sync with the physical world. I don't quite manage the gravity right and my hand flies right toward Foxface's—Talon's—leg. The moment my hand passes through him, a jolt of something electric shoots through me again, and I outright yelp.
Yes, Iyelp.
Talon goes still, staring at the spot where my hand should have touched him, but didn’t. The smirk fades instantly. His entire body tenses. Then, slowly, too slowly, he tilts his head.
“I felt that,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, lacking its usual playful tone. Somehow, that makes it worse. “Wiggle your fingers for me, would you?”
Like hell I would. I snatch my hand away as quickly as I can, like I'm alive and I’ve touched something burning. I press it into my lap, hoping the sensation will go away.
It's… infuriating. A weird mix of tickling and numbness, but it isn’t just in one spot. It spreads, like it's poison.
Nathaniel and Cassian are now completely silent in the front seat now. Nathaniel might be driving, but I know he’s totally focused on what just happened. Cassian, though—he's unnervingly still. I can't see his face, just the way his shoulders tense up.
“Come on, Little Grim,” Talon beckons. “Get your hand back here.”
I swear, he sounds like a perv.
“No.” I shake my head. But he doesn't take no for an answer. He tilts his head, smacks his lips, and reaches for my wrist. Or, more like, he tries to. The point is, he makes contact, and…
The worldshudders.
My breath—if I can even call it that—hitches, and for a second, I swear I flicker. I snap back fast, though, because the sensation alone keeps me from slipping away.
“Fucking hell,” Talon mutters. “It's like sticking my hand through warm mist.”
In a flash, I find myself pressing into the car door, as far away from him as I can get. His dark green eye sparkles, getting brighter than a moment ago as he lowers his chin and smiles at me with his brows furrowed in a way that’s less charming and more psychotic.
“I told you,” I manage to say. “I don't want you passing through me.”
