I turned before I could think better of it.
Hale stepped in behind me. He took the loose string from my shoulder, gathered my hair at the nape of my neck, and tied it tighter than I had.
The motion was almost impersonal.
Almost.
His knuckles brushed the back of my neck.
The Pull went straight down my spine.
My body went electric.
“So,” I said, because silence had become far too dangerous andI needed a distraction from what my body felt. “Is this part of the lesson?”
“It is if it keeps you from losing.”
Hale’s hands should have left my hair by now.
They had not.
“Hale,” I said.
“I know. I should step back now.”
“Probably.”
He didn’t.
My hands stayed on the stave. His stayed in my hair. The Pull held between us like a blade pressed against skin, ready to cut.
Then voices sounded in the corridor.
Students. Coming closer.
Hale’s hands finally left me with noticeable reluctance.
“Again,” he said.
My breath came hard despite my best attempts to master it.
“Now?”
“Now. For appearances.”
The first voices reached the door.
Hale stepped away from me, three feet exactly, as if the distance had been there the whole time.
I lifted the stave.
My right hand found the correct place without looking.
Hale noticed, and finally he smiled.
“There,” he said.
The students came into the salle.
