[ She watches him for a long, silent moment. Considering the way he holds himself, the way the energy seems fit to bursting from his seams—an intensity she recognizes, though not in this precise form and not from this precise man. Carver would get like that sometimes, when he had to move or something in him would sunder apart. Sometimes, he couldn’t hear her at all when he got like that. She thinks it was like that at the end, a little, when he was too wound up to remember how to listen.
But that was her fault, too. She was the commander, and she should have made him. ]
Ask.
[ Her voice is soft. Idly, she considers the distance between them. How quickly she’d need to move to put a knife through his throat. She thinks she’s faster, but there’s always a chance strangers will surprise you. ]
no subject
But that was her fault, too. She was the commander, and she should have made him. ]
Ask.
[ Her voice is soft. Idly, she considers the distance between them. How quickly she’d need to move to put a knife through his throat. She thinks she’s faster, but there’s always a chance strangers will surprise you. ]
Make them good. I have work to do.