“Would you want to?” I keep my voice steady. Gentle. “Scare me, that is?”
His brows shoot up. The humor, what of it I can read in this low light, flees from his expression. “Never.”
“But there are people you want to scare?”
“There are people Idoscare,” he says, his smile a slow-growing thing. “Quite frequently.”
“I didn’t see you scare anyone during the shootout.”
“I was focused on keeping you alive.”
“Thank you for that. Again.”
He dips his chin, so sweet.
Remembering our conversation, I ask, “Do you enjoy scaring people?”
His energy shifts, as subtle as a scream, from loose to vibrating. He likes this question.
“Very much.”
He says this with the barest tilt of his head, as if gauging my reaction.
You don’t scare me. I’m fascinated by you. Always have been.
I run my fingers through my beard, and his eyes, brilliant and precise, track the movement.
“How do you scare them?”
“Oh.” He huffs, like a chuckle, only drier. Prouder. “You wouldn’t wanna know that.”
“I do.”
His inhale is slow, deliberate.
A delay tactic.
Will I judge him?
“How many of my files have you read?” he asks, his voice like roughvelvet.
Enough to know that they don’t have video of whatever it is you do in that kill room.
“You mentioned Edison worked with you when you hit puberty.” I give a small gesture. “So I read up on his notes.”
My eyes, now adjusted to the low light, pick up on a few more details, like the amused quirk of his mouth.
“But you didn’t answer my question, Sy. How do you scare people?”
I don’t particularly like to be scared. I dislike horror movies, and I despise a jump scare, but I suddenly need to know more about this aspect of Silas than I need my next breath.
“You’ve already seen it, actually.”
“Your eyes.”
“Yes, but… It’s more than that.” He sends me a furtive look. “Do you really want me to show you?”
I grab his forearm and his chest expands. “As long as it won’t hurt you.”
