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Subtle.
His shoulders tighten, and his thumb rubs once against the edge of the table.
Nervous.
Bitter Adams is nervous.
Interesting.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Terrible liar.”
“I learned from you.”
“I am excellent.”
“You are many things.”
“Sweet.”
He exhales, then reaches beside his chair instead of into a pocket.
Interesting.
He lifts a folded black leather Grave Prowlers support vest.
My heart stops.
“Bitter.”
“Before you panic, read it.”
I stare at him.
Then take it.
It is not a Property vest.
No PROPERTY OF BITTER.
No ownership patch.
No declaration I did not choose.
The back carries the Grave Prowlers support patch.
Below it, smaller:
SWEET
That is all.
My name.
The one I chose.
