The word "bastard" hung in the cool hallway air, hoarse, wet, barely more than a rasp.
Thalia's hands shook against his thighs. Her cheeks were ruined—streaked with mascara, shining with tears, lips swollen and smeared with white that she couldn't even pretend wasn't there. She was on her knees. Still trembling. Still trying to drag breath into lungs that hadn't caught up yet.
He looked down at her.
Not with guilt. Not with satisfaction, exactly.
Just... want. The same want that had been simmering in him since the moment she'd given him that perfectly hollow 'okay' and thought she'd fooled him.
"...Bastard?" He tilted his head.
One corner of his lips moved. Just barely.
"You waited until after you swallowed to say that."
"I—" Thalia's face snapped up, fury blazing hot enough to cut through the mess on it. "I did 'not'—"
"Darithi."
The single word was quiet. Not raised. Not sharpened. Just dropped into the hall like a stone into still water.
