Mid year five

They were whispering again. Eris held her glass out to Aviv and waited, patiently enough, while he filled it.

He raised his eyebrows at her, at the way her free hand was drumming on the counter. “Careful. That’s your seventh.”

Eris laughed, although there was no humor in it. “What’s going to happen if I drink too many? You gonna try to grab me?”

“I won’t.” There was never a time when Aviv didn’t look serious. Eris wondered if the tentacles that made up his mouth under his Mask could even make a smile. Today, he sounded serious, too. “But I wouldn’t assume someone else is as smart.”

Eris raised her eyebrows. “Smart? You saying I’m a bad catch?”

He saluted her with a drink, the closest he might ever come to that elusive smile. “I’m saying nobody with half a brain thinks that they’d survive putting a collar on you again. If you didn’t kill them – and you probably would – well, Joff and Rafe aren’t collared anymore. It would be a mess.” He leaned back and sipped his drink, or, at least, held his drink up near his lips and some of it vanished. “I might even get involved.”

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