The Eye of the Beholder

[Sören]

Little of interest rolled in from the search. Sage Parker was an American civilian, not much more than a kid. Why Morven had found it necessary to risk her career for such a nobody Sören couldn’t fathom, but she had always had strange notions of sacrifice. Given Nina’s current situation he wondered if it was a hazard of the occupation, to place the lives and interests of others above common sense and self-preservation.

He set the hook, but she finally backed off a little. Sören watched her retreat with a low chuckle. She had wanted his attention, parading like a mouse over the paws of a bored cat, until the cat’s whiskers finally twitched. He rarely roused for those who did not share his gifts, but ultimately he would use who he could. He pushed up from the desk, ignoring her question, and followed her to the threshold of the screened off room. His figure swamped the doorway. She was much smaller than he, and he was a tall man, broad at the shoulder.

Maybe he intended to scare her. Maybe he intended to test her mettle. Either way the little mouse had nowhere to run.

Sören reached for her arm, twisting it to expose the flesh of her inner forearm. The grip was not pinching, but there was corded muscle behind it, and his hold would tighten if she struggled. “If you’d had a symbol here, a snake eating its own tail, I would have killed you,” he said. There was no threat to it, not now; if anything he spoke too casually about something so heinous. His gaze searched for any recognition, but he did not expect to find it, not until she pieced together what it meant he was. Ascendancy exposed the Atharim after the attempt on his life, but a civilian had little need to remember their obscure branding. 

He dropped her, but didn’t retreat. She was still trapped. “You ought to think twice before helping every stray you find on the streets. Some of them may bite.”