octocorn
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“Oh, so you’re alive.”
It takes a moment for the words to filter, for them to gain significance, but Ronan knows immediately that it’s Adam who speaks them. Adam’s Henrietta honey voice, twisted into the clipped and contemptuous tone he uses so often when speaking to Ronan.
“What the hell, Lynch,” he says. “Answer your damn phone, for once.”
Ronan manages to crack his eyes open but everything is distorted, blurry at the edges. He blinks, and blinks, and lifts up his arm, heavy like led, to swipe at them. He can’t feel his face. He croaks, “Adam?”
“Man, you must be drunk.” He sighs. “You never call me that.”
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He bit the bullet. “I guess it’s… Ronan.”
Blue said, “What’d he do now?”
Adam laughed for real this time. “Nothing. I mean. Not yet.”
Blue followed the movement of his hand and cocked her head, trying to read the spread of cards upside down. She spent a moment studying them. He held his breath, knowing what she would see there. Blue might not be psychic, but she’d grown up with this stuff—she probably knew the theory behind it better than he did. He felt strangely flayed open, knowing what she was looking at. He almost wished he’d picked them up before she could see, but it wouldn’t matter once he told her, anyway.
Blue said, “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together.”
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Summary
Adam woke up to find a pool of blood on the floor where Ronan should have been.