Bas sighs, dog-earing the page in his book and closing it, setting it down on the table. “It was.” My eyes widen in horror. “What?” He straightens like he needs to be on guard. “What do you mean ‘what?’ How could you do that?” He rubs at his jaw, his brows drawing down in confusion. “Do what?” “That.” I gesture at the book. “Get a bookmark, good lord. Were you raised in a barn?” “Oh,” he replies, picking the book back up and flipping it open. “You mean this?” He takes another page and slowly, torturously, curls over the top part of the paper.
Oh heck no. Bas is the real villain here.
