The slitted eyes blazed.
For a moment, the air around him thickened. The glass beneath his palm groaned, hairline fractures spidering outward from the pressure of fingers that were on the verge of changing into claws.
"Wait until I wake up completely..." 'Grayson's voice trailed off.
The fire in those slitted eyes dimmed, flickered, and went out like a candle smothered under a glass.
'Grayson' swayed once, then his body went limp against the window frame, head lolling forward.
Silence.
○●○●
When Grayson came to, his head was pounding like a hangover when he hadn't drunk any alcohol.
His mouth tasted like copper. His nape throbbed with a dull, residual heat, the black mole still tender but no longer burning.
Grayson quickly checked the time.
Not much had passed.
The relief that washed through him was thin and bitter, because 'not much time' still meant there was time that had been lost and forgotten.
