"This is where you live?"
"You don't like it?"
"I do. But I expected something more— cosy."
"You mean little."
I didn't see it coming.
One second Luther's face was calm, the next his fist landed square on my arm.
Sharp, quick, enough to sting.
I stumbled half a step back and laughed before the pain even settled.
His glare wasn't deep, just tight at the edges, jaw locked, eyes sharp like the punch was saying everything he didn't feel like spelling out. Heat spread through the sore spot, blooming fast under my shirt, and I laughed harder.
Couldn't help it.
I rubbed the spot, pressing into the ache like it was a prize, not a warning.
He didn't move, just stood there breathing steady, shoulders squared in that way that meant the conversation was over before it even started.
I caught myself grinning and saw it flash in his eyes—exasperation, quick, then gone.
"I meant that it looks cold and without any trace of a human living in it!"
