But before I could look up, Mac pressed my hand gently against my face, making it impossible to open my eyes. “Don’t,” the mostly mute man said gently. “Hurt yourself.” He didn’t let me move my hand until I’d released my Sight—and there was no way he should have been able to know that. But he did anyway. Which put him in a relatively small pool of beings—those with a connection to divine knowledge, to intellectus, and given what the Outsiders had called him, I was pretty sure I knew what Mac was now. Or at least what he had once been.
But we dont' get to know?!
