I stood on the edge of the shelf and watched Devant's back. He reached up to adjust a scarf that wasn't there anymore. His fingers found bare neck, rested there a moment, and dropped back to his tin cup.
Behind me, Maggie leaned close, the edge of her veil brushing my shoulder. Her crimson eyes stayed fixed on the pale boy. Her face gave away nothing, the same as always.
'Like me huh…'
The thought sat in my head like a cold stone. I looked Devant over. The slight frame. The dented tin cup. The pleasant, hollow smile he wore like a mask. I didn't see the resemblance, but Maggie didn't make jokes, and she certainly didn't use metaphors.
Before I could ask her what she meant, Devant stepped off the shelf.
"We should stay on the upper paths. The lower ledges are far too steep."
'Right. Lower paths it is.'
