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Winthrell asked, “Did they cover any designs on you with the pigment?”
“Um, yes. Bands on my forearms that I didn’t remember getting. It was a wild few years.”
Winthrell scrambled on a tablet, and a screen showed her naked with a tribal lightning bolt around each of her forearms and a matching set around her thighs. The marks were in the form of burn scars and only visible when the zoom was applied.
Hazor blinked. “Tracer marks?”
Thunder asked, “Is that a weapon?”
“No, they were security for assessors.”
She sat up. “What?”
“There were beings marked that way, and their energy manipulation was similar to yours. Stunning, not killing,” Hazor murmured.
She laughed and ran her fingers over the covered marks. “Yes. That seems to fit the bill.”
“You can turn it up to kill,” Winthrell said.
Cloudy said, “I am betting they could as well. It just wasn’t advertised that they could kill with a touch. Hazor, I can stand on my own feet now. Maybe even get dressed in regular clothing.”
Hazor smiled. “I like the webbing.”
“Shut it, perv.” She checked her levels and patted his chest. He let her down.
She stood and swayed. Her father caught her. “Cloudy, you okay?”
“I took it to the limit without the soundtrack.”
He smiled. “Your mother was worried about this.”
Cloudy pointed to herself. “This? Or this?” She pointed at Hazor.
Her father laughed. “Yes.”
Hazor was still flickering with psychic flame. “I believe Vecchin will be interested in an analysis of your skills and your effect on me.”
“Well, have fun spending time with Dr. Winthrell. He looks like he has cold hands.” She smirked.
Hazor laughed, and the doctor snorted.
Cloudy said, “Right, well, I need to get dressed, and then we need to go eat. I have burned a ton of calories.”
Hazor grinned. “I am being dismissed?”
“If it is you or a meal right now, the meal goes in my mouth hands down.”
He shook his head.
Thunder groaned.
Dr. Winthrell said, “Fine. Go for the night. I may call you for additional testing.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.” She got her clothing and tried to peel the webbing off. “How does this stuff come off?”
Winthrell removed the monitor pods from her head, and then he drew a safety blade and was about to slice when there was a tug, and her spine got a lot colder. She squawked, and Hazor was looking at the claw on his index finger. He smirked.
“Butthead,” she muttered in English.
