[This post is from Thomas Merlin Ambrose’s point of view.]
Opening the door, I winced at the sudden brightness that flooded in. The morning sunshine was stronger than I’d expected, or it was later than I expected—probably a bit of both. A hiss escaped through my clenched teeth and again, I wished I had my father’s old sunglasses, the ones that he’d worn after fights for reasons that were only now starting to make sense.
Tory wasn’t right in front of my door, but he also hadn’t gone far. He didn’t look at me right away, not turning as I closed my door and limped—gods and monsters, why am I limping?—toward him. He blew out a quiet breath, though, letting me know that he knew I was there.
“I don’t understand any of this,” he said. “And I’m not going to pretend to.”
“I only understand half of it,” I admitted as I came alongside him. “Maybe even less than that. But that doesn’t change what’s going on.”
“You said we were going to go talk to the visitors.”
I nodded.
He sighed. “Let’s do it, then.” He turned to start walking, then stopped, looking at me with a furrowed brow. “Assuming you can.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’re about the color of a sheet of paper?”
I made a face ands hook my head. “I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
“All right.” He didn’t sound like he believed me.
Truth be known, I didn’t believe me, either.
