[How many times had he heckled Mal for playing the part of jealous lover with such exasperating stupidity and predictability? And here he is, contemplating a dozen matchstick-quick comebacks that would only give the Darkling what he seeks: his composure, ruffled.
Sneaking quietly, treacherously through the back of his thoughts: Alina slipping out of the house one late summer evening not long after the Darkling's arrival in this world, evasive in her purpose, but he trusted her. He trusts her. He doesn't need to know who she's texting; they have so many of the same friends here.
The Darkling doesn't enter their conversation often, but what does that quiet mean? What do you think he's up to? she might say. And him, Crying into a bowl of soup, I hope.
This is what he does, Nikolai reminds himself with a staying breath. He manipulates and divides.]
Was this also in the dreams you claim not to have?
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Sneaking quietly, treacherously through the back of his thoughts: Alina slipping out of the house one late summer evening not long after the Darkling's arrival in this world, evasive in her purpose, but he trusted her. He trusts her. He doesn't need to know who she's texting; they have so many of the same friends here.
The Darkling doesn't enter their conversation often, but what does that quiet mean? What do you think he's up to? she might say. And him, Crying into a bowl of soup, I hope.
This is what he does, Nikolai reminds himself with a staying breath. He manipulates and divides.]
Was this also in the dreams you claim not to have?