alone and vulnerable, zeke is a veteran entering a warzone, the twinge of fear laced with excitement. he walks into the decrepit warehouse in a calm resignation, though his heart bounces wildly against the metal in his chest. confrontations with sasha are irrepressible events, like a hurricane sweeping clean the landscape; heās seen it, felt it. this evening, he expects the lashes of her voice and energy whips. he expects to bleed and burn and limp out of here a wounded animal -- only with sasha does he lose his confidence.
zeke arrives without a single plate of armor, casual as a boy going to class on a weekday. the uniform they designed together was left behind. itās a stupid move that he doesnāt begin to regret until he steps through the threshold, starts for the center of the building. he canāt focus and manipulate the energy without the gauntlets, and sasha knows that as well as he does.
the only thing that will save him is sashaās mercy, and zeke bets sheās not feeling very kind. but thatās the thrill of it ā he likes this game, the challenge of it. sasha didnāt make it difficult to find her, but this part is what will really suck.
and zeke knows heāll love every second. he missed it, craved it. Ā
ā you took a while to find, ā thereās not any point in delaying the inevitable, is there? Ā he calls out as he walks, fingers warm with anticipated energy. ā but half of those disappearing acts you learned from me, sash. iām always gonna be able to find you.
