"i’m not.”

it’s not a lie--not completely. james knows the moment jisoo (was that her name now--the new designation she’d chosen, brandishing the mere five letters like some kind of proverbial shield?) asked her question that she wasn’t really looking for an answer.

no, it’s not an answer--or even answers--she’s looking for right now.

she’s looking for a fight. and james, callous and unrelenting, will give her one. just because he could.

so he crosses his arms, feet shifting shoulder-width apart, and stares.

waits. and digs.

it’s a testament to his self-restraint that he doesn’t reel back, both physically and mentally. the neutral expression he’s settled on doesn’t waver (though, he knows jisoo might be able to see right through his bullshit if she tried. see right through him if she allowed herself to. but he knows she’s afraid of what she might find should she deal him the same hand--do to him, to Them, what they all do to her. he knows she might not recover. and he plays on it--the tangible fear that clings to her skin, to the dark, ravenous crevices inside her mind).

he breathes deeply on the guise of muted frustration, knowing how much she hated sighs and signs of disapproval (the lonely child in her ached for attention and approval, he knew that. and the bastard he is does what he does best: exploitation). and swims.

he’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to find, having only used his ability on her thrice--and getting caught in the act every single time. (how she does it, he’d never know. he’ll never ask. his pride refusing to admit defeat.) but james knows he’s hit the jackpot when he feels the flush of shame, lukewarm on his skin, the stab of fear deep in his bones. the cold burn of fury deep in the pulsing hollow he thinks is her soul. 

he doesn’t venture further. he’s never been able to without triggering some sort of mental tripwire and giving himself away. this isn’t an interrogation, after all. not a test nor an experiment. just him obliging. nothing more, nothing less. (if he got a flicker of perverse satisfaction in seeing the calm and collected “saint” stumble off her golden pedestal, then no one would know but the two of them. and he’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much.)

james waits a beat, then shifts forward like a predator that has spotted its prey and is on the hunt. “jisoo,” he hedges, stretching her name into two drawled syllables. “you’re--” a pause. for dramatic effect. it’s a sign of good will on his part, giving her a little head’s up before he presses hard.  slamming her with a flurry of images, flashes of feelings he’d caught while fishing in the labyrinth They call her mind. his eyes open, a sliver of blue rimming the edges of his irises. “--wallowing.”