There was a sensation not unlike missing a step. Like a weight thrown into her ribs and an electric shock, a skipped heartbeat, it was a jolt evidenced only by the sudden stillness and lack of expression. Her eyes had gone cold too suddenly. And just like that it was gone. The fear and shock washed away because she could not betray herself, so that even in the grip of alarm, of a peculiar sensation of hurt and spike of inner trembling hidden by her tightly controlled body, Max leaned casually against the wall and regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

It was a front she had a feeling he would see through. Still, it was better than no front at all. Her mind was working furiously to recall a time that felt so long ago, with words spoken on a dock and his hand in hers. I won't kill you. Did he remember? Did it matter?

"Oh yeah?" she said, and was pleasantly relieved when her tone was level. "What'd I do? Leave my shoes on the floor? Hog the covers?"

It was his voice that marked the danger. His words she could have taken with a tiny grain of salt, but the way he spoke, and looked, it was like a stamp of authenticity. The real deal in the way of a psychotic meltdown. And the worst part? If he was serious, she doubted he would exhibit the frantic outbreak of someone unhinged. Albedo struck her as someone who drew blood slowly and with precision. Someone who would not make a mistake and let his prey slip through his fingers.

Max shook the thought away. It was some type of joke. If not, her mind mapped the house, searching for an escape route by sheer instinct.