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Summary
“And what conclusion did you come to exactly?” Scaramouche does not look amused at the implication of humor. There is an icy quality to his expression that makes Aether’s heart flutter in all the wrong ways. Scaramouche advances a few paces; his voice is still calm and yet he gets the feeling he probably shouldn't do anything to piss him off as his eyes burn wisteria into his amber ones. His words are slow, cold, and calculated as he speaks. "What did you learn from your reflection?” There is an uptick in his voice. Irritation.
Aether can feel the weight of the other man's scrutiny upon him, his every move and utterance measured and judged with lethal precision. The air around them crackles with tension, a palpable energy that hangs heavy between the two of them. Aether is not sure how he got himself into this situation. He supposed it started when he received a text message from a number he did not recognize on his phone.