The car door closed behind them with a soft, expensive sound that should have made Dean feel safer.
It did not.
The temple disappeared behind the darkened glass as the convoy pulled away from the old quarter, white stone and silver leaves sliding backward into the bright Ylico morning, and Dean found himself staring at the reflection of his own face in the window with the strange, detached anger of someone who had left part of himself sitting in a tea room beside cold mint tea and an ugly painting.
Arion sat beside him, one hand still wrapped around Dean's.
"You are thinking about it," Arion said.
Dean did not look away from the window. "I am thinking about many things."
"You are thinking about Sebastian."
Dean's jaw tightened.
Of course he was thinking about Sebastian.
How could he not?
