Mob sat with his hands wrapped around two spokes of the
banister, his weight braced against the edge of a wooden stair. He craned his
neck closer to the door. Ten steps still separated him from the thin leaking
light at the top. It was enough, he figured, to not endanger the man above. And
if no one was in danger of his powers, then there was no reason to stay in his
At least that was what Mob told himself. Mogami had been
clear with his rules: do not come near the door when there were voices above.
But then the voice came back, and suddenly that rule was
impossible to follow.
Mob sat still, hardly breathing. He loosened and tightened
his grip as he listened, tapping along to the natural rhythm in the muffled
sound beyond the door. It flooded his mind with wonder. A real person was just
beyond the threshold, with a face and a body, a life, a name. It was a person
who must see people every day. Someone who walked around in the world outside,
someone with a job and clothes—oh clothes—what sorts of clothes did he wear?
Different kinds. Not the same every day.
dialed her number as quickly as he could, mostly because his phone wasn't co-operation with him, and his contacts kept crashing. His free hand jittered against his leg as he waited for Alex to pick up.