A/N: Not much to say here. Just delving little more into Warren's mind and torturing him with ethical debates. :) Thanks for your comments! They are always appreciated. :)

Chapter Five: A Meeting of Minds

October 2, 2006
Warren

"Warren, are you busy? Can I talk to you?"

I raised my head out of my textbook, startled. It was a Monday morning, and I had somehow arrived for Accounting nearly twenty minutes ahead of schedule. I'd awakened early, before the alarm even went off. So instead of going back to bed, I grudgingly got up and started getting ready. I guess that's what a good night's sleep can do for you. I hadn't gone out last night because there had been a thunderstorm, and I'd previously discovered that wet wings were not conducive to safe flying, nevermind the risky issue of lightning. So for once I felt well-rested and in a surprisingly good mood, for a Monday.

Sera Slone was squatting next to me, her arms resting on the tops of her thighs, hands loosely clasped. She met my eyes unabashed, and I gave her a nod. "Yes?"

She leaned back, tipping her weight until she was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to me. Her long hair fell forward, and she tossed it out of her face as she replied. "Well, Jonathan and I were talking, and we'd really like to go ahead and get started on this debate project."

Oh, yes, the debate project. As if I needed another thing to stress over at this juncture in my life. Hiding my wings, attending my parents' demands, doing regular schoolwork, and flying around saving all of New York City apparently wasn't enough. "Okay…"

"So, we were thinking of meeting tonight. Say, six o'clock. At Café Eva," she said. "And we probably won't meet long, but it'll just be a jumping point. We can get eat, get a discussion started, and maybe split up the work and start from there." She paused, giving me a very earnest, open look. Wide brown eyes, serene smile. She was attractive, I had to admit, in an earthy sort of way. Not my type, but pretty nonetheless. "What do you say?"

I didn't say anything for a moment; just studied her. Sera was an odd one. Most girls were easy to figure out, really. Like my father, I could always tell when they were after something and what they were after. It came across in their tone, their body language, the way they looked at me, even the flighty topics they brought up in conversation. Having spent much of the past few years living life as an observer rather than a participant, it became second nature to predict what sort of reaction I would get from the things I said or did.

But Sera was different in that she didn't outwardly react at all. Since the day we'd been assigned to work together, she'd approached me on numerous occasions to ask a question or breach conversation. Every time I'd brushed her off, every time I'd refused to entertain a real dialogue with her, she remained unfazed. She didn't get angry. She simply shrugged, left me alone, and then came back to ask the next day as if nothing had happened. It was unsettling. And uncomfortable.

"Tonight?" I said, hesitant. I knew we were eventually going to have to start meeting outside of class, but I really hadn't wanted it to be so soon. Or ever. "I don't think so."

"Oh?" she asked. "Why not?"

Because I don't feel like it, that's why. "I'm… I'm busy."

"Busy," she repeated. She leaned against the wall, studying me with an intense, even gaze. "Busy, just like you were this past weekend, and all last week, and the week before that."

"Yes," I said simply.

"I'm busy, too," she said. Coming from another, the words would have sounded sarcastic, hateful. But Sera's expression and tone didn't take on any of that nastiness. It flowed naturally, as if she was just stating a known fact. "I have class, a job, responsibilities. So does Jonathan."

I fidgeted, creasing and re-creasing the right page corner of my book. "What's your point?"

"My point is that although we're busy as well, we both manage to reserve a little time to work on this."

"I can't help my schedule," I snapped. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Hot, itchy, squirmy. Sandwiched there between her and the wall, I had the oddest sensation of being trapped. When I was stressed, my makeshift corset suddenly became way too tight and constricting, as if my wings and abdomen were being crushed by some unseen force. I'd never considered myself claustrophobic, but I certainly understood how it felt.

"Warren," she said quietly. "Look, I know you didn't want to work with us. And I know you probably are busy a lot of the time. But I promise, if you just make a little effort here, this will all be over before you know it."

Why won't she leave me alone? Why can't I get rid of her? Why can't she just—

"Just meet us tonight," she said. "Just for a little while. Thirty minutes of your time."

I didn't answer. Instead, I looked away, staring down the corridor. There were classrooms all up and down the hall on either side, and every door was still closed. But we were no longer alone, as several other students had meandered in and collapsed against the white concrete walls, waiting to go inside their respective classes.

"I—" I faltered. "I don't—"

"And, just for the record, I hear that Café Eva has one of the best vegetarian menus in the city," she said, interrupting me. "I'm interested to try it out, myself."

"Yeah…" I'd ordered from Café Eva before, actually, and it was delicious. They had unbelievable zucchini parmesan – I'd tried to recreate the recipe at home myself, but could never quite get the same taste…

"Is six o'clock too early?" She leaned forward, elbows on knees, still studying me closely. For a moment, I felt like I was being sized up.

"Well…" When you never really had plans, there was no such thing as 'too early'. I cleared my throat. "…no, not really, but—"

"Okay, so, what do you think, Warren?" she asked, breaking in once again. "Will six o'clock work then, to eat and meet for a bit?"

Every part of me was childishly screaming No, I'm not coming, just tell me what I need to do for this goddamn debate and I'll do it! However, I found myself saying something unexpected. Something that fell out of my mouth before I could catch it. I said yes.

"Okay," I relented. "Six at Café Eva. But I can't stay long," I added. I'll just make an appearance, I thought. Thirty minutes, like she said. See what they want me to do, then head out. Easy.

"Perfect." She smiled broadly, her face creasing with familiar laugh lines. I could sense her inner feelings of personal triumph. Like she'd just tamed some wild animal. "We'll see you then. Thanks, Warren."

She pushed herself up, dusted off her jeans, and retreated down the hall. And that was that. One good thing I could say about Sera Slone was that she wasn't one to sit around and waste words when the issue was resolved. That's how it was in the business world, I'd learned – there was plenty of talking and cajoling before a deal was made, but once hands were shaken and papers signed, idle talk ceased to exist. Get in. Get it done. Get lost. She apparently operated under the same rules. I could appreciate that.

"Yeah…" I murmured sarcastically when she was out of earshot. I settled back against the wall, squirming slightly to adjust against my wings. I felt a little calmer for the moment now that I was alone again, but the good mood I'd started the day with was completely shot. I flipped my textbook back open and started reading again. "…thanks."

xxxxx

"Warren?" my mother asked. I started, blinking and vigorously rubbing my temple. With some consternation, I realized that I'd been staring at the city skyline outside the bay window for the past ten minutes, unaware that she'd even been talking. I gripped the phone a little tighter, glancing at the clock. It was a quarter to six, and therefore, almost time for me to leave. "Warren, honey, are you listening?"

"Yeah," I lied. "Sorry, I was just distracted for a minute."

She clicked her teeth in disapproval. "I just asked you if you would be coming with us to dinner this Saturday."

"This Saturday?" I repeated. I'd managed to get out of the past few weeks' excursions by feigning sickness, though I knew neither Mom nor Dad bought the act. I walked away from my window, looking for my backpack. Thirty minutes. That was all I had to put in tonight, thirty minutes. "I dunno…"

"You really should come, Warren, we've missed you the past two weeks," she said. "Julianna Foster asked about you, you know."

"Did she now?" I rolled my eyes. I was sure Julianna only missed my presence because she saw me as a convenient way to get her father off her case. After the last dinner I'd attended, the one where we'd been introduced, she'd given me a quick hug when the evening was over and thanked me profusely for acting as her pseudo-date for the evening. And since she'd given that passionate anti-mutant speech during dinner, I'd wondered just how horrified she would have been if she'd known that when she'd lightly looped her arms around my back for that short hug, she was indirectly touching a set of folded, cramped mutant wings.

"You two looked very cute together," my mother continued. "Have you spoken to her since then?"

The backpack was sitting next to the couch, so I lifted it up and slung one strap over my shoulder. I wandered into the kitchen, checking the table, the counter, and the little catch-all basket above the light switch. Where were my keys?

"No, I haven't," I said. And I don't really intend to. Cute together? She was really laying it on thick tonight. "Besides, she has a boyfriend. And Mom, I don't mean to be rude, but I have to leave now. I'm meeting up with some people to work on school stuff."

Her voice perked up, presumably at the revelation that I was getting out of the apartment and mingling with peers in some form. "Some people? Like who?"

I couldn't help but snort a little. Mothers, always so nosy. "Just some people from class that I'm doing a project with," I said. Then I smirked. Well, I could easily milk this as a social event; she would like to hear that. "We're meeting for dinner at Café Eva, then studying." For thirty minutes, anyway.

"Oh, good, good," she said. Her tone took on an impish lilt. "Would any of these people happen to be female?"

"Mom!" I said, exasperated. She was relentless. "Could you give it a rest?"

Frowning, I reached around my side, scratching. I needed to buy some new bandages; the old ones I'd been using forever had lost their elasticity, and I found that I had to pull the fabric tighter and tighter each time in order to achieve the same results. Plus, they'd gotten brittle and abrasive from too many washings, so strapping down my wings had become even more uncomfortable. Especially when I'd been wearing them all day – since I had to go back out tonight, I hadn't taken them off when I'd gotten home from class. It wasn't worth the trouble to unravel myself for only an hour or two, so I figured I'd just grin and bear the discomfort.

However, I was quickly regretting that. This whole experience had given me a new respect for women. Candy had often complained that the sexy lingerie she wore for me was uncomfortable, but I'd always dismissed her grumbling because she never complained about the things that happened after she wore it…

Candy. Beautiful, sexy Candy. Speaking of females… Wonder what she's doing now. Wonder if she still wants to teach grade school like she said she was going to. She was always good with kids… she'd be a great mother…

"Well?" I was brought back to harsh reality by my mother's expectant tone. I bent over, twisting and struggling to reach a particularly stubborn itch. There's got to be a better way to do this, I thought. I'd managed this problem for more than two years now, but the thought of going through the rest of my life wrapped up like a mummy grew less and less appealing every time I put on the bandages.

"Yes," I said curtly. "And before you ask, no, I'm not interested in her. She's a good student. So is he. And so am I. That's why we're working together." Well, not exactly, I'd just been shanghaied into being part of their project. Not to mention that the guy, Jonathan, had looked about as thrilled at the prospect as I'd been. Sera, at least, was polite to me, even if she was persistently in my face.

"You always were such a good student," she said with pride. "I'm glad it's paying off, honey. I—"

"I really have to go," I cut in. Where the hell were my keys? "Or I'm gonna be late. Sorry, Mom. Should I call you later?"

"No, no, that's okay. I'll call you later this week." She paused. "Just tell me one thing, Warren."

Uh-oh. "Yeah?"

"Is she cute?"

I groaned. Never let it be said that Katherine Worthington is a quitter. "MOTHER."

"Sorry, sorry!" She actually laughed then, and I had to admit that a part of me felt better just knowing that her worries were somewhat assuaged. "I'll talk to you later, Warren. Love you."

"Love you, too." I clicked the phone off and tossed it onto the couch. Now… keys. I folded my arms, thinking, before I remembered that I'd slipped them into the pocket of my trench coat. Relieved, I went to the closet and plucked the keys from the pocket. The weather this evening was surprisingly warm, too muggy for that coat, so I left it behind. My wings would just have to remain hidden under my long-sleeve shirt.

I hoisted up my backpack, grunting as the weight shifted. With my keys in hand, I took the elevator down to the ground-level garage, heading for Café Eva.

xxxxx

I've never really liked driving. Except for the first night I'd gotten the Spyder – my ill-fated sixteenth birthday – traveling by car was mostly a pain in the ass. It provided a normal means to get somewhere (as opposed to flying), but that was about it. It was a matter of comfort, really. Comfort and location. Driving meant being boxed in and sitting on top of my wings until the pressure made them hot and sore. Traffic in New York was notorious, so I was guaranteed to spend at least thirty minutes cooped up for even short trips. I could have gotten a driver, like my parents, but I'd dismissed that suggestion, preferring to just do it myself. Chalk it up to more Worthington stubbornness.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I shouted when a beat-up green Toyota cut me off. I slammed on the brakes, grimacing when I saw the car in my mirror swerve to avoid rear-ending me. Jesus. "Jackass…"

I turned at the next intersection, carefully looking for Café Eva's small, nondescript sign. I'd passed by the place plenty of times, ordered the food occasionally, but had never been inside. I was running a little late – about five minutes – but I knew I was almost there. Sera and Jonathan were probably already there, cursing their misfortune.

Sighing, I slowed to a crawl when I found the restaurant. Truthfully, I felt sorry for the two of them – I knew that neither had planned on having a third wheel in this endeavor, and Dr. Marcus had certainly put them on the spot that day after class…

I scowled. Bastard. I still didn't see what the big deal about working alone was, anyway.

There were no parking lots or structures nearby, so I elected to parallel park in a snug spot across the street. Well, at the very least, my parents' business dinners had shown me how to handle myself in group situations, so I supposed that was a plus. The brusqueness I generally used for class had worked for me up to a point, but I wasn't sure it was going to fly here anymore. Not when Sera seemed bound and determined to bring me into the fold. Damn her.

I sat with the engine off for a moment, listening to the soft crooning of Billie Holiday on 87.9. It wasn't dark outside, but the sun was well on its way down, giving the tall, rustic buildings a faded, aged appearance. Pulling the key out of the ignition, I peered at the glass front of Café Eva's, examining each person inside. After a moment, I saw them both, sitting at a table off to the left, sipping out of tall glasses and laughing about something.

I wanted nothing more than to go home, take off my heavy clothes, and fly… but instead I took a deep breath, stepped out of the car, and walked in the door. Thirty minutes, that's all…

It was an informal café, the type of place where you order up front and take your food to a table. I approached the counter first. I wasn't too hungry, as I'd had a late lunch, so I just ordered a Coke, a veggie pita, and a sugar cookie. I took my purchase and slowly approached their table.

Jonathan saw me first, as he was facing my direction. His eyes, which had been wide and laughing at something she'd said, immediately went flat and unenthusiastic. Wow, I thought, amused. I really have an effect on people.

"Hey, Warren," he said.

Sera turned, her mouth still on the straw of her Coke. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she looked otherwise relaxed. She quickly swallowed her drink and smiled. "Hey, Warren, how's it going?"

"Fine," I said. "Sorry I'm late."

"No problem." She dismissed the apology with a wave of her hand. "Sit, sit. What did you get?"

"Just a cookie and a pita. And a Coke." I sat down next to her – I decided that sitting next to Jonathan wouldn't do much for his already-evident animosity. I set my food down on the smooth wooden table and collapsed in the chairs, keeping a safe, respectable distance between Sera and I.

She peered over at my tray. "That looks pretty good, actually. I had the veggie lasagna. Highly recommend it."

"Sure." I picked up my pita, pretending that I didn't see the victorious look she'd just given Jonathan. Yeah, okay, you got me here, congratulations. Now let's get this over with. I stuffed the sandwich in my mouth, taking a huge, ferocious bite.

Sera leaned back in her chair, daintily taking another sip of her soda. Her hands were curled tightly around the glass, cradling it with a grip that was both feminine and strong. She had long fingers, I noticed. And three rings – one on each middle finger, and a intricate gold band on fourth of her right hand, but not her left. Unmarried. I wasn't sure why that revelation struck me as odd.

"So, how was your day?" she asked once she'd swallowed. An attempt at friendly conversation.

"Fine." I continued to eat, methodically working my way around the outer edge of the bread. I liked that part best, because it was a little crispier.

"Did you have any trouble getting here?" she continued. "I heard that there was a wreck down on Sexton Street, apparently the traffic was nuts…"

A wreck? It wasn't like I could do anything about it now – I was stuck here with them, for one, and it was still daylight, for another – but I still felt that twinge, that small longing to fly and fix and rescue. "No," I said. "No trouble."

"Did you—"

"Look," I said, talking with my mouth full of lettuce, disregarding standard good manners. "I can't stay long. Can we get started?"

Sera and Jonathan were silent a moment, then exchanged yet another glance. "Sure," she said slowly. "Let's get started."

xxxxx

Though there are times when I 'zone out' of life and lose myself in oblivion – in class, for example – the truth is that I find the way humans interact to be quite fascinating. Regular people, who are unguarded and frank and real. Not like businessmen, who are, in essence, actors. But Sera and Jonathan were a perfect example. Two young adults, unassuming and naïve to an extent, hanging out and collaborating on a joint goal.

And I'd learned a few interesting things in the short amount of time I'd spent with them. They were both older, which most would have misconstrued to mean they were both more mature. Sera was twenty-seven, a surprisingly baby-faced former teacher turned risk analyst wannabe, and she'd moved to New York from the mountains of West Virginia on a whim. Jonathan was twenty-four and a student council member who'd switched from English to Radiology to Accounting during his six-year tenure at SWU, although he swore that this was his final choice.

Interesting, indeed. What would drive a small-town girl from the safe confines of home and family to the rat race of NYC? And what sort of guy changed his mind so often, and in such a crazily varied way, about his choice of profession in life? I had my theories, but I was going to wait to learn more before I applied them. I did, however, discover one universal truth about the two of them – Jonathan had it bad for her. Seriously bad.

When it came to women, some men played it cool, others were transparent with their feelings. This guy was the latter, for sure. The way he looked at her, his tone of voice, the seemingly insignificant differences in his body posture when he talked to her versus talking to me. Yeah. He wanted her, that much was obvious. And Sera, for her part, indulged his flirtations and even responded to an extent, but there was an underlying reserve to her actions; a hesitance. Like she wasn't sure what she wanted, exactly.

Typical woman.

"Well, we can at least start gathering information about our topic," Jonathan said, breaking into my thoughts. "Just to get an idea of what's out there. Then maybe later decide who's going to talk about what, and in what order."

With my sandwich finished, I pinched off a section of my cookie, slowly chewing on it. "Topic?" I repeated. That was news to me. "When did he assign the topic?"

"In class last week," Jonathan said. "He passed out a sheet with everyone's assignment. I guess you weren't there that day." I didn't like the sarcasm in his voice, but I let it pass. I didn't miss class often, but there was one morning last week when I'd been too exhausted from the previous night's activities to get out of bed. Fuck you. I'd like to see you make it to class after spending two hours carrying a dozen people to safety from a burning building…

"So?" I said instead. "What's ours?" I tore off more of the cookie. I suddenly wished I'd bought more than one – I was hungrier than I'd thought.

Sera plucked a white sheet from her notebook, sliding it across the counter towards me. "Preimplantation Genetic Diagnosis. We're supposed to argue for it."

I stopped chewing. Oh, for the love of Christ… "Excuse me?"

"It's the process by which parents can choose what features and traits they want their child to have, or what traits and features—"

I held my hand up. "I know what it means," I said coolly. God, did I ever. It was one of the many things I'd come across in my research following my unexpected 'growth spurt'.

"—they don't want," Sera trailed off. "Okay. Well, yeah. Basically, almost the concept of creating a 'designer baby', free of diseases—"

"—or mutations," Jonathan interjected. I felt my face heat up. Again, fuck you, you jerk.

"—or whatever," Sera finished. She took another sip of her soda and frowned. "I need a refill," she mused, so absurdly off topic that I nearly laughed out loud.

"And we're arguing that this is a good thing," I said. Perfect. What dramatic irony. I slouched down in my chair, staring up at the tiny, simple white chandeliers dangling from the ceiling. I didn't want to argue for PGD. I didn't want to argue against it. I just didn't want to think about the topic, period. Or, for that matter, anything remotely related to the concept of genetic engineering. I was a living genetic failure, for fuck's sake…

"Yeah." Sera held up her glass, and a waitress scurried up to get her refill. "Which I don't really like, because I'm not sure I agree with that."

Jonathan cocked his head to the side and gazed at her, a small smile on his lips.

"You don't like what? The idea of a cute little 'designer baby'?" he asked. "You wouldn't need that anyway, Sera… I bet your babies would be adorable all on their own."

Oh, God, gag me. That's the lamest line I've ever heard. Un-fucking-believable. I coughed loudly, covering up a snort, and Jonathan gave me a stare that could have melted adamantium. I glared back at him, scarcely blinking. Don't look at me like that, I'm not the one pitifully attempting to get laid here…

Sera merely rolled her eyes. Well, at least she wasn't a pushover for pathetic attempts at flattery. "You know what I mean," she said. "That's messing with nature too much, I think. Personally, I believe you let the cards fall where they may…"

I felt a spark of disagreement. But sometimes, when you let the cards fall where they may, you end up with an extra helping of fur, or with lizard scales, or with an sixteen-foot set of extra appendages… I grimaced. Thinking about it now – really thinking about it – I wasn't sure where I personally stood on the issue. After all, if my parents had genetically ensured that I would be a normal child, I wouldn't have ever had the wings… and if I'd never had the wings, I'd have never known what it was like to fly, so I would have never known what I was missing… so it all worked out, right? You can't regret something you've never had…

"But the opportunity to make sure your kid's free of your family's history of diabetes, or high cholesterol, or cancer?" Jonathan asked. "Wouldn't it be wrong to ignore that option? You're basically playing Russian Roulette with their health…"

"That's nice in theory, but I think we all know what this genetic diagnosis would lead to," Sera argued. She was leaning on the table towards Jonathan, arms akimbo and hands fluttering to make her point. She was always passionate with her opinions, I had to give her that. "Physical appearance and skill; parents will want to pick and choose and design their own child. And that's where I think it's wrong. Besides," she added after a moment. "As far as the disease-prevention argument goes, I don't think it matters if you try to 'save' your kids from certain illnesses. Because eventually, nature evolves to get around it. Why do you think there are so many strands of flu nowadays? You come up with a vaccination for one, then it mutates and becomes something else you have to fight. Nature finds a way."

Nature evolves… it mutates… nature finds a way…

Right. Good point.

"What do you think, Warren?" she asked then, after several more minutes of flurried debate with Jonathan. Another attempt to engage me in conversation. "Do you think it's a good idea, or not?"

The room suddenly seemed dim to me; darker and smaller. The sun had gone down, I realized, and there was no longer the friendly glow coming through the windows as there had been earlier. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I'd been there for nearly an hour, well beyond the thirty minutes I'd promised. Okay. It was time for me to get out of there.

"I—I don't know," I answered – truth. "I haven't given it much thought." Lie. "And… I have to go. I'm late already. Sorry." I abruptly stood up, grabbing my discarded napkin and cookie wrapper. Jonathan gave a little grunt of disapproval, but said nothing.

"Oh, well – oh, okay…" Sera's eyes scrunched together in puzzlement. "What do you want to—"

"I'll start doing some research on this," I interrupted her. Finally standing upright made me realize just how achy my back was. Was this how dogs felt, when they hadn't been walked in awhile? Anxious and wound up? "Just some preliminary stuff to get going. Then maybe we can go from there." I tossed my stuff in the nearest trash bin and wiped my hands on the leg of my jeans. God, they were sweaty…

"Okay, well… when should we meet again?" Sera rested her elbows on the table, meeting my gaze squarely. She'd tucked the fallen strands of her ponytail behind her ears, and I again marveled at how amazingly young she looked, despite her age. Innocent, almost cherubic. "I mean, we didn't really get a whole lot accomplished…"

"I don't know," I said. "We'll talk about it in class." She started to protest, but I gave them both a quick nod as a goodbye and bolted for the door. I didn't look back. Eager to get out, get home, and get free.

xxxxx

There's this moment, the instant when the last roll of bandage falls to the floor and my wings spring free, that's absolute bliss. It's a pressure release. Orgasmic. That feeling of burden being lifted, quite literally, from my back. It's like finally being able to breathe again after spending a century underwater.

When I arrived home, I raced into my bedroom and ripped off my shirt with such force that I tore the side seam. Tonight, however, I couldn't even wait to unravel myself to get that aforementioned sensation of freedom and ecstasy. Instead, I grabbed a section of the thin bandages and yanked, ripping the now-brittle material into shreds all the way down my side until there was nothing left. I threw the remnants in the floor, next to my tattered shirt.

I was panting and sweaty by the time I was done. Squaring my shoulders, I lowered my head and lifted my wings, stretching them out as far as they would reach, attempting to get the blood flowing through the shafts again. The feathers of each tip brushed against opposite walls, and I had to be careful not to knock my mother's Tiffany lamp off the nightstand as I stretched. I needed to get out, work them and get loosened up…

I took deep, slow breaths, attempting to calm myself down before heading out into the night. When my heart rate had settled, I thought about getting out my Avenging Angel 'uniform', but decided against it. Tonight would be just for my own benefit, I deserved it. And I wasn't feeling stable enough to work for others.

There was a mirror in front of me, a wide, wooden-framed piece that nearly took up the entire length of the wall. It was more for decoration than for vanity, a way to open up the room and make the space seem even larger. But it was also large enough to replicate my entire body, wings and all. I stared at my reflection, watching with morbid fascination as the feathers ruffled and fluttered with each tiny move I made.

Nature finds a way…

I watched my lips curl into a rueful smile. "It sure does," I murmured. I stayed still a moment longer before snapping my wings back and briskly walking from the room. I was only on the balcony for mere seconds before lifting into the sky, holding my arms out as I breathed in the rush of cool air. It felt amazing on my bare chest, fresh and soothing. Sort of like skinny-dipping. Smiling for the first time that day, I picked up speed and climbed higher in the air, eager to get further from the city and lose myself in the clouds.

xxxxx

And the thought struck me later, when I returned to the stratosphere, that something about the evening didn't seem quite right. I didn't chalk it up to paranoia – because I'd experienced the feeling enough in my lifetime to recognize it even when it wasn't blatantly in my face. And it worried me.

Because I felt, for the first time since my Avenging Adventures had begun, like I was being watched.