Those words ring more true than Benedict could possibly know— enough that for a single, steady beat that peregrine gaze pauses, as if searching for some sort of knowable answer in the lines of Benedict's face, rather than demanding it outright. He stays otherwise still, fingers drawn along the front plating of his helm, frozen in the face of conviction.
no subject
Those words ring more true than Benedict could possibly know— enough that for a single, steady beat that peregrine gaze pauses, as if searching for some sort of knowable answer in the lines of Benedict's face, rather than demanding it outright. He stays otherwise still, fingers drawn along the front plating of his helm, frozen in the face of conviction.
"Tell me."