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Summary
Ada’s hand moves and Claire is so, so slow - noticing just now that Ada has been carrying a gun, unholstered. The glint of its metal is captivating, as Ada taps it to Claire’s thigh, hidden underneath the bedding, then moves the barrel up until it’s pressed against Claire’s stomach.
“Scared?” Ada asks, and her eyes betray she finds Claire pitiful, like somebody might regard a particularly cute wounded animal, “You should ask questions first, Claire.”
Ada licks her lips, long lashes slowly lowering, eyes tracing Claire from head to toe. Her eyes are captivating, beautifully dark and deep, looking at Claire with a strange mix of satisfaction and mocking, superiorly arrogant.
“But,” Ada interjects again, eyes snapping back up to stare right into Claire’s, “I like that. Cautious but naive. So cute. Maybe I have a type, you think?”
Claire meets her own undoing at the end of the world.