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The tension isn’t just thick, it’s suffocating.
“This isn’t a joke, Mila.” The turmoil battling in Odyn’s steely gray eyes catches me off guard, and my playful smile quickly fades. Removing his glasses, he places them beside a dusty leather-bound book and clasps his hands together, the movement jerky and awkward. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s trying to keep himself from. . .
No. Don’t be stupid, Mila.
He’s jumpy. I’m jumpy. I’m communicating with murder victims, and he’s having tea parties with my dead mother. This day has worn on both of us. There’s no way in hell he’s thinking the same inappropriate thoughts I can’t get out of my head.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. In case you can’t tell, I’m not exactly comfortable talking about this stuff.” I trail my fingertips over the edge of the table, feeling ridiculous as I peek up at him through my eyelashes.
“This stuff.” He repeats my words, a small smirk easing the strain on his face. “At least you’ve stopped calling what I do fraudulent bullshit. Careful, detective. You may end up liking me after all.”
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