Footsteps echoed closer to Adam with each passing second. In the moment before the teachers inevitably confronted them about the ruckus, he held Desmond's uneasy gaze.
"I don't know..." Desmond started, but he interrupted with a heavy sigh.
"Look." He pointed at his left leg as the bleeding stopped and the deep-bone wound began to close under his healing spell, his icy voice contrasting with the warm recovery. "This construct won't get away after wounding me."
Desmond tried to speak, but he gripped the teenager by the back of his neck, drawing him close until their noses almost touched. "This is not about you anymore. I'll dismantle this can of scrap metal with my own hands. You hear me?"
A frown creased Desmond's brow, Adam's intensity making him back a step—just as a firm hand gripped them both from behind.
