#leverrier

She looked away.

A routine check-up.

That was a lie.

She’d been tortured at the hands of the Black Order--of Heilig--only moments before the attack had occurred. She’d had no control of Pax’s actions, too consumed by the agony that had still been searing her body to even realize what the gyrfalcon had done until she heard the loud clatter and saw Heilig slumping against the railing.

“You haven’t answered my question, Miss Foley.”

She snorted.

“How are you adjusting?”

Her fingers twitched, longing for the familiar feeling of the wooden handle of her hunting knife beneath the pads of her fingertips.

What would Charlotte say?

Taryn laughed dryly, except she was mute at the moment, her vocal cords torn to shreds by overuse. So her laughter was hollow and noiseless, a simple, emotionless huff that spoke volumes regardless.

She turned her gaze sideways, spying the form of the eyepatched redhead dwelling in the shadowed corner of the room.

A single green eye caught in the dim light, moving quickly to take in the subtle motions of everyone in the room before settling on her once more, anticipating her next action--beyond the four walls of this room, the Bookman in training was an ally, but here, he was little more than a ghost.

Should she even be acknowledging a spectre?

She scowled at him, the expression little more than a slight pressing of her lips into a thin line and a brief, scornful flash of her eyes before she looked away.

Taryn envied him his ability to detach himself in these moments. She wished she knew how.

“Miss Foley.”

She forced her attention onto Leverrier, noting the faint, veiled impatience in his eyes. Then she smiled, the expression deceptively kind and warm, almost apologetic, and signed, her hands flying.

He couldn’t keep up.

So he didn’t know that she had blatantly told him what she thought of the Order, her words leaving no room for doubt.

And neither could Lavi tell him. Not yet, at least; he didn’t have a full grasp of the language of the Foley twins just yet.

Your entire organization could be razed to the ground and I wouldn’t shed a tear.

The gyrfalcon perched on the back of the chair she was seated in squawked, and she could feel his confusion in her mind.

The Vatican and its Black Order had hoped to subjugate Taryn and quash all hints of rebellion.

Instead they had reopened a wound that had been nearly healed, had allowed infection to seep into it and--

They had no way of knowing how that wound was festering right under their noses.

“Miss Foley,” Leverrier said evenly. “How are you adjusting?”

She shrugged noncommittally and signed again, different words this time.

You should’ve just killed us.

He still had no way of knowing, but Lavi--the redhead drew in a soft breath, and she glanced at him again, quirking a single brow as if daring him to say a word.

Was that a hint of emotion? Apparently she’d been wrong about his detachment, but that didn’t matter.

Leverrier had caught the sound, too, it seemed. He glanced sidelong at the exorcist. And then he looked at Taryn Foley again.

“What do you know of the Fourteenth?”

Well, for one thing, he hates that, she formed the words with her hands. Then she sat back and crossed one leg over the opposite knee, smiling pleasantly. It’s just a nickname.

Lavi shifted, and she could practically hear the question burning on the tip of his tongue; he wanted to ask her what that meant.

Leverrier narrowed his eyes. “We know you and your sister traveled with him. Your Innocence even synchronized with you more rapidly in that time. Why is that?”

Her smile widened slightly as her hands moved, and she still refused to give him a straightforward answer.