Then I turned to face him. “I’m not like you. This is starting to mess with my head.” “If you don’t want it, then take me home.” He stared out the window, his face an unreadable mask. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it. The problem is, I do. More than I should.” He glanced over, his eyes dark, fathomless pits. “And that’s bad?” “Yes. Because when this case is over, it will mean we go back to our typical jobs and lives, and this”—I swung a finger between us—“whatever it is, will be done again.” Aslan said nothing, but the intensity of his stare was enough to make my heart gallop.
