Quinlan turned toward the balcony, still hovering above the bridge. Marielle almost wished he hadn't heard her; the red light behind his visor settled on her face, and her fingers tightened painfully around Andre's sleeve.
"Answer already...!" She stomped, but her outlash had none of her prior ferocity.
Quinlan grinned beneath his helmet, and [Synchra] reshaped its sealed faceplate to match. Black metal drew into sharp cheek ridges while a crimson line curved across his mouth, widening into a cruel smile edged with pointed metal teeth.
Every inch of his skin remained covered, yet Marielle could see his vicious delight in the face the armour made for him.
A low chuckle reached her through the helmet, and she recoiled.
"Why, you ask?"
She'd imagined a rich fool ashamed of his weakness beneath that armour, whose women and equipment had carried him far beyond his ability. Someone who needed a proper adventurer to keep him alive.
