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Summary
Fluixon took a measured step back. “Drop it,” he warned.
But Saparata didn’t.
As if caught in a private fixation, he closed the distance again. Saparata was tall—taller than Fluixon had properly registered all week. Fluixon had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze, neck straining slightly.
“Or,” Saparata leaned in closer. A few strands of white hair trickled forward, brushing near Fluixon’s cheek. He smelled faintly of the ocean, briny and stinging against the nose. “Did one of them bite you?”
Fluixon finds himself both curious and wary of the man who introduces himself as a scientist.