Alex grumbles something that gets drowned in his coffee as he brings the mug back to his lips and side-eyes Inoue. The damn kid's cocky, all right—a requirement for working this kind of job, he's sure; no such thing as a humble journalist, in his opinion—and something about that confidence rubs Alex the wrong way, makes him suspect there's something else possibly at play here, something the kid knows that he doesn't.
His eyes narrow slightly at the notebook Inoue starts writing into—he can't read a word of it, but given experience, Alex would bet it says something along the lines of stubborn, uncooperative bastard—but more notable than that is the sudden shift in tone, one bordering on authoritarian. It shifts the tone from conversation to interrogation, with the man looking to pin him for something letting the mask slip to show his frustration.
If it's really about the damn writer, he's out of luck. Alex knows almost no more about that incident than anyone else at the moment—the FBC's sanitised documents gave him fuck-all and he's not some paranormal investigator ready to dive headfirst into the wild rumours surrounding that place.
Alex sets that aside for the time being, tucking it away in the back of his mind for later. He opens his mouth to offer another sarcastic remark, only to be smacked in the face by the admission, stopped fully in his tracks. Without thinking, he brings the hand holding the coffee down on the table. The still hot coffee splashes onto his wrist and earns a hiss of ah, fuck! before he turns fully to face him head-on for the first time.
Alex can feel himself bristling at the reminder. Wake's disappearance hadn't done anything to stop those damn jokes. When he had admitted that this was the last Alex Casey novel, Alex had clung to some small hope that with the eponymous detective's death, the novels would fade into obscurity and he'd be left alone. When was he ever that lucky? Instead, the comments shifted to putting Casey on Wake's case—let him find the writer; there was something poetic in that.
"I've had this name long before Wake even picked up his first pen, so whatever you're insinuating, don't."
Alex grabs one of the napkins and dabs at his wrist, now angry and red where the coffee scalded him.
"I'll have you know my attitude is one of my most redeeming qualities." Alex pretends he doesn't hear that last part, doesn't dignify it with a response even if he does take a good moment to really look at his face.
"—Just ask your questions and then leave me alone. You've got until I'm done here, not a second more."