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eight a.m. to pack, so I’m running short on time to make myself scarce. Computer mix-up or policy change or something. She wasn’t clear. I didn’t think it mattered. Wasn’t much option about it either way. You look so much better.” He managed a smile, but it seemed forced. Those eyes of his were always so intense and serious. Then again, this encounter was incredibly awkward for both of them.
    Despite the awkwardness and the weird… whatever it was between them, the corner of her mouth gave a little twitch in reply. “Well, given that you last saw me coming off a week and a half in torpor, the bar wasn’t set very high.”
    He, on the other hand, still looked weary and wrung out. At the same time, his body was on high alert. His muscles were strung tight, his shoulders tense, fingers twitchy. Was he waiting for her to attack him or something?
    If he was, it was a legitimate expectation. So why did that bother her? She stepped forward and then stopped short. Her hand lifted to brush a stray curl from her face, but she stopped in the middle of the nervous gesture and dropped her hand to her side. Instead she clasped her fingers behind her back.
    There were a lot of questions to ask. She certainly hadn’t counted on the shelter kicking him out, and it wasn’t like she could go and make a big stink about it. As far as anybody else at the shelter knew, she’d left to go on vacation the night she disappeared. “Sit with me,” she said.
    â€œSure.” Anton sat with an unceremonious crinkle on the plastic bag that he’d been given to use as a makeshift suitcase.
    â€œWhy didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?”
    He shook his head. “I told you—oh.” His eyes widened in understanding when the tips of Tyra’s fingers rested lightly on his forearm. His gray eyes were sharp when they focused on hers. “You can read my mind or something when you touch me, can’t you?”
    Her skin heated. “Not your thoughts, exactly. I mean, if you started to recite a cooking recipe in your head I wouldn’t suddenly know how to make your granny’s famous clam chowder. Mostly vague impressions. Emotions. Things like that.” It was one of those random, offhand comments, but it brought forward a rush of unanticipated sadness from Anton.
    Tyra nearly smacked herself on the head. They didn’t know much about the wizard race, but it would stand to reason that he probably hadn’t been raised by what she thought of as a family. No grandmother. No home-cooked clam chowder. “I’m sorry,” Tyra said.
    â€œIt’s… don’t apologize to me. It’s fine.” His arm twitched under her fingers. “Well, don’t apologize, anyway.”
    K. Time to change the subject. “Look, I know you already told me, but please. Explain to me again what’s going on here. The whole situation with your father and why you were following me. I need to hear it now, when I’m healthy and lucid.” Comparatively, at least. She paused to study his face. There was a lot going on behind those eyes of his, despite the weariness in them. “And yes, I need to feel it. It’s the only way we’ll both be able to trust here.”
    â€œI won’t be able to read your emotions,” he said.
    She wasn’t the one with the evil lineage, thank you very much. The back of her neck tightened. “I will be straight with you as long as you’re straight with me. Can we agree on that much?”
    â€œHuh. Sure.” A grimace spread over his face and his hands rubbed his thighs like they were sweaty or something. “I kept an eye on you while you were in a coma. Torpor. Whatever it was you called it. When you woke up, you threatened to kill me and then disappeared without another word.
    â€œNow you’re telling me I should hand you my blind faith? Unlike you, I’ve barely slept in a week