[ Much as she'd like to stay on her feet and project some sort of unwavering strength, it's all gone. Just bending to get the knife out from her bedside drawer is enough to make her light-headed, and she doesn't even have the energy to argue that people are selfish, no one does things without some sort of carrot at the end or a whip behind them.
She just fixes him and the papers with a dry look and sits herself down on her bed, setting the knife down next to her. Two weeks ago she wanted him dead for scavenging little scraps of information on her from her own backpack, but maybe it's some sort of consolation that he has something on the real her. The one who breaks things instead of trying to fix them. ]
no subject
She just fixes him and the papers with a dry look and sits herself down on her bed, setting the knife down next to her. Two weeks ago she wanted him dead for scavenging little scraps of information on her from her own backpack, but maybe it's some sort of consolation that he has something on the real her. The one who breaks things instead of trying to fix them. ]
Yeah. Sure. What about them?