Page 94 of Veil of Death and Shadow

“Do you get them a lot?” Levi opened one eye, glancing at me briefly.

“Get what a lot?” My voice resonated cracked and flat to my ears.

“Panic attacks?”

I clenched my jaw, then nodded. “Sometimes, yeah. They used to be worse though. This is the first I’ve had in a while.”

He nodded, then, as if just remembering, shoved his hand back in the mystery tote bag and pulled out a box of mints. He gave them a shake, the sound of candy against tin ringing through the park, then tossed them into my lap. “Should have thought of it earlier. Mints—or, really, anything with a strong taste always help me when I get them.”

I popped the top off and shook one into my palm. “You get panic attacks?”

“They’re rare now, but I used to get them pretty regularly a few years ago.” His lips twitched. “Not fun.”

“Not fun,” I agreed, rolling the mint over my tongue. He was right, the intensity of the flavor—cold and spicy—helped ground me. “I usually try to do the whole five things thing—you’ve probably heard of it. The one that’s like, think of five things you can see, four you can touch, etcetera, etcetera. But sometimes in the thick of it, it’s hard to remember. Doesn’t always work either, you know?” I clicked the mint against my teeth, focusing on the feel of it. “Thanks though, this helps.”

“Any time,” he said, and when I tried to hand the box back to him, he shook his head. “Keep it. I have more.”

Instinct had me ready to refuse, to press the issue, but I fought it down. Sometimes when a person was trying to do something nice, the kinder thing was to let them, even if it went against your nature. I pocketed the box. “Thanks.”

“Do you—” he ran his hand through his hair, like he was fishing for something to do with it, “do you want to talk about it? What triggered it, I mean?”

I grunted; half laugh half absolutely fuck no.

His mouth hooked into a grin. “Yeah, I figured.”

"Anyway," I stretched the word out, as if it might help me land on a good change of topic, but my brain was spent. I glanced down at my phone. Fifteen minutes until my next bus, but I didn't see the point in extending this further. I held out my hand, awkward and unsure how best to end this. "I feel like I can fully break a guy’s nose without fucking up my hand now. So, thank you. It was—uh,” I shoved my arm closer to him for a handshake, “good doing business with you. I hope you?—"

How was that supposed to end?

I hope you have a good life? I hope you enjoy your time in Seattle? I hope that your fate is more open to free will than you think it is?

They all seemed like such ridiculous, strange things to say to someone who now felt far less like a stranger than I’d intended him to be.

He stared at my hand for a long moment as if stunned, then closed his around mine. His skin was warm and calloused, and he didn't let go right away. "So that's it, then? You're just going to leave? Dine and dash?"

I stared at him. "Well, yeah. That was our deal, wasn't it? One tour of the city, one training session? Mission accomplished, we did it."

“Wow.” A rakish grin stretched across his lips, his eyes widening in shock. "I have to tell you, Mareena, I've been dropped by a lot of people in my life, but no one has ever been quite so business-like about it."

He still had my hand in his, his grip gentle, very easy for me to pull back from if I wanted to.

"I mean, did you want another tour?" I supposed I hadn't really shown him much, when it came down to it. Seattle was composed of different micro neighborhoods that stretched well beyond the few we'd seen. "Different part of the city, maybe?” Every time we met, we’d mostly stuck north of the cut out ofconvenience. There was still a ton to see south of downtown. “A museum or something?"

He shook his head, and I hated myself for feeling just slightly disappointed. "No, I don't want another tour."

I pulled my hand back, smoothing my features into a blank mask.

Right, that was for the best.

"Okay then." I attempted a soft smile, but I felt it bristle and knew it probably came off stiff, maybe even slightly annoyed. What was the point of him pressing me then? "Have a good life I guess."

"This might come as a shock to you,” he said, “given my devilish good looks and winning personality, but I don't really have many friends."

I shrugged. "You're new in town, I'm sure you'll make some. Just maybe try to be a bit more humble when you go about it."

"I don't just mean in Seattle. I mean that I generally don't have many friends, period. Not really any, except for my mother, now that I think about it.” He shivered, before adding in a softer voice, as if more to himself than to me, “Which is just about the most depressing thing I think I’ve ever said out loud.”

My chest tightened at that revelation, at the clear loneliness suddenly so achingly obvious behind the teasing mask he often wore. “You’re a likeable enough guy, I’m sure you’ll have no problem making friends.”

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