Clay let herself be guided back to her seat, still bowing her head, cheeks flaming crimson.
She sank down slowly, hands now gripping the edge of the table, fingers digging into the soft leaf surface.
GULP!
S... Scary!
Maybe she realized someone was searching her, I did too when Medline used it on me, but Clay had—without even looking at me—flown on the table and nearly stabbed me, while her other hand still fed herself those donuts.
Is she an assassin?!
She hadn't turned her head, or shifted her gaze from her plate.
One second eating, next second fork in hand, arm extended full length, tip steady at my throat.
To kill me?!
The other hand never stopped—pinching another piece of donut, bringing it to her lips, chewing calmly even as the fork hovered.
Then it was instinctive, I suppose.
Okay, I take that back; Clay is NOT weak! She's terrifying.
