A feeling prickles over my neck, like the slow drag of a finger. I look up.
Lament is standing in the doorway. He’s fully dressed in long sleeves, jeans, and a pair of work boots, looking much as he did in the kitchen yesterday: a pale piece of art that’s just beautiful enough to invoke sadness. The vision is punctuated by ambient lighting, creating a halo effect, like he’s a statue in a museum.
He inhales sharply and asks, “What are you doing in here?”
If only he really was a statue. Then he couldn’t speak. “Looking for something to read.”
“These books aren’t for reading.”
Is that supposed to be a joke? “What are they for?”
“Reference.”
“You can’t reference a book without reading it.”
“I think you’re missing the point.”
I feel like I’ve missed a lot of points, actually, an entire lifetime’s worth that might explain how I’ve wound up alone with Lament, again, on the wrong side of his temper. “Okay. I was exploring.”
“You weresnooping.”
I raise my hands in mock surrender. “You caught me. Snooping through reference books. It’s my secret vice.”
“I mean,” he says coldly, “through the detachment.”
“This room isn’t off-limits. I’m allowed to be here.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“So?”
“You should be in bed.”
“Well,” I say dryly, “so should you.”
To my surprise, his ears go faintly pink. The hair on my neck stands up in response, startled and more than a little thrilled.
Ridiculous. I’m an Academy-trained gunner. I’ve shot a Death Charmer into a pool of dynamite and watched the ensuing firestorm devour half a planet. I shouldn’t find Lament’s blush thrilling.
“Well?” I imagine sticking out my finger and nudging him in the ribs.Poke. “What’s your excuse?”
He fidgets, tugging at his cuffs. “I don’t need an excuse.”
“You’re wearing work clothes in the middle of the night.”
“I like to be prepared.”
“You’ve come to a room full of”—I glance at the nearest book—“spacecraft mechanism volumes. But you’re not a mechanic. You’re a pilot.” I tap my chin. “Interesting.”
“It’s not interesting.”
“The plot thickens.”
“There is no plot.”
“Unhand me!”
“I can’t—what?”
