I set the phone down on the table and let myself enjoy that last message for a solid three seconds, which is about two and a half seconds longer than I usually allow for gloating.
Already forgot it.
Absolute poetry. Four words, zero commitment, maximum psychological damage. Somewhere on the hill up to Summit House, Blair Davenport was walking with a crooked scarf and a face doing something she'd deny under oath, and I got to sit here in the dining hall with a smirk I hadn't earned by being nice.
Then something jabbed me in the cheek.
"Hey."
