Once again, she opens up that hoodie of hers, and once again it feels like bait he knows he should be better than to rise to. He sees the dark-inked serpents at her clavicles and remembers the matching pair along her hips, the way they'd looked peeking above the lace of her panties as he went to his knees on that plush hotel room carpet. The memory of that night is something he's gone back to, over and over again, but it's never felt so soured than it does right now.

"Am I mistaken?" he asks, unable to keep the superior chill from his voice, wanting it to feel more like armor than it does in the moment. "Because truly, Alex, if you've somehow found a way to get the address moths here and perfected the incantation to get them to give up the tattoos again, I'd love to know."