MADE A GRAVEYARD FROM THE BONE-WHITE AFTERNOON
❀
Death can always wait. That it can, and the easy confidence in Maximus’ voice as he points this out makes Bexley smile with a warmth that is, for once, almost genuine. It’s a sentiment she’s hung her hopes on time after time after time.
And by the grace of the Gods - or whatever else is out there in the universe, watching, omniscient - maybe even uncaring, with just a hand at luck - it has not failed her yet.
She blatantly disregards his stare as it follows her, the predatory, calculating way he watches her movements and her own appraisal of him. It would be hypocritical to say anything when her examination of him is just as obvious. Instead she stifles the snarky comment that springs to mind and, forcing her smile to linger, raises a brow as if to say you’re not wrong: it’s an expression of amusement, if tumultuous, and it fits her naturally mischievous face with startling ease.
They turn away from the desert together, and as Bex leads the way forward she feels a burst of excitement in her chest, as fleetingly there-then-gone as a hare on the run.
