Shrike’s eyes flicker up, and Jason’s still tense, still waiting. Between one blink and the next, there’s going to be a knife in his gut, and it’ll be the least of his worries.
“What are you waiting for?” Jason asks, his tone vicious. He leans in closer and wishes there was blood in his mouth, just so he could spit it in Shrike’s face.
(snippet sunday monday, featuring a piece I’m working on for the first day of jaytimweek)












