Chapter 306
I never put much stock in people who claimed they could feel storms before they hit. There's something to be said for atmospheric shifts, the way the air gets heavy and clings to your skin. It's easy enough to look up and see the clouds rolling in, hear distant thunder. That's not what I'm referring to. I'm talking about feeling something coming with no tangible correlation. An ache in the bones on a cloudless day, when the stillness makes the hairs on your arm stand on end. Silly. Unscientific.
But I felt it then.
"I bought you a fucking milkshake," Miles snapped, the condemnation in his voice echoing across the clearing. His blade arm hadn't budged, but that didn't mean anything. For all I knew, the barely concealed blade was a distraction—meant to draw attention before he drew a sawn-off and blew me away.
"You did," I agreed. Wasn't sure why the milkshake, in particular, registered so highly out of so many other transgressions, but making light of it seemed categorically unwise.
His eyes darted back and forth, seeking meaning in memory. "It was real. It had to be real."
"And expensive given the venue."
"Not the drink, shitheel." Miles' mouth tightened in revulsion. "When I let it slip that you were about to be interrogated, you had a full-blown, hyperventilating, pulse-fluttering-in-your-neck panic attack. You can't fake a physiological reaction. No one's that good."
"It wasn't fake," I said, unsure if coming fully clean would help me or hurt me. "If there's anything I have in spades, it's anxiety. Took a long time to learn to repress it. But breaking a dam is always easier than building one."
Miles paused, then threw back his head and laughed, the sound harsh and brittle. "Right. So you just... let it out. Timed it perfectly to give the sucker turning the screws a terminal case of hesitation. Felt guilty for weeks, by the way. Worried I ruined some poor kid's life."