“Now that we’ve exchanged friendship bracelets,” Koen says, “can we move on with our day?” He makes to stand, but I push him back down with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Not until I’m done, buddy.” I step around to work on the other half of his face but stop when I notice the way they’re all regarding me. Well, not all. Koen is just his habitual, long-suffering self. The others, though, watch us open-mouthed. I smell a surge of panic. Sudden alert. Sphincters clenched tight enough to make diamonds.
Koen is sooooo cooked
