The sixteen Divers looked at Freya the way you do when, for an instant, you've forgotten where you are.
It didn't last.
Red Squid always picks its own filth back up too fast.
The man in the stained coat was the first to smile. A narrow, crooked smile, mistaking numbers for courage. He let his picking tool tap lightly against his palm, believing his attempt at breaking in would somehow turn into an earned right.
"Problem with the door?" he repeated. "None, princess. We're just trying to get in for a chat. But if you want company afterward, I'm sure we can open something else… like… your legs."
A few laughed.
Freya took a step.
The air around her changed before her face did. It was subtle, but I felt it on my skin. The temperature dropped a few degrees. As if a cold blade had passed between her and the group. Her hand hadn't even moved toward her weapon, but her body was already making the decision.
