Sabine knows they don't look it—at least not in the way that makes sense; the two of them walking down hallways hand in hand, half the things they say to each other more in the whispers of knowing glances, familiar quirks of movement or expressions, fragments of words; a language only their own nearly a decade and half old before those missing years, so much longer together than their time apart.
He's different—
more than her,
humans are such a changeable dominoes chain
—but they're still there. A knot forged in time across a line.
"Still hating that," Sabine admits with perfect frankness. She liked it better when she could just stab Spencer Middleton in the throat with a box cutter to solve a problem that refused to stop plaguing Jack and taking her very little time from her. "Because it hardly feels like a one-and-done type of nonsense, given everything I keep hearing has befallen the Summoned for years."
no subject
He's different—
humans are such a changeable dominoes chain
A knot forged in time across a line.
"Still hating that," Sabine admits with perfect frankness. She liked it better when she could just stab Spencer Middleton in the throat with a box cutter to solve a problem that refused to stop plaguing Jack and taking her very little time from her. "Because it hardly feels like a one-and-done type of nonsense, given everything I keep hearing has befallen the Summoned for years."