#The high flying spy

[curtain-caller]

It's time to meet Chai, the Head of Marketing at Vandelay Technologies, and self-proclaimed "King of Rock". No one really knows how he got this job with how annoying and demanding he is, not even Peppermint... And yet, his overconfident, playful demeanor is charming enough for him to get Vandelay's products flying off the shelves. Buy 1 deadly robot and get 20% off on a ticket to his concert at the Project Armstrong Festival!

Finally finished drawing everyone's favorite white boy! For his swapped design, I just kinda mish-mashed a bunch of his costume accessories together, threw on a bunch of V symbols and slapped on a bunch of red, orange and yellow until it passed the vibe check.

Bonus doodles below the cut:

[thelittlestspider]

realistically if superheroes existed, they would either be corrupt, exploited, or killed by the government.

[faunabel]

...? i walked into my backyard and heard a strange noise like a scary bug and i looked up and there was a DRONE??? and the moment it saw me it flew off. hellooo?? why were you spying on my backyard?

[newbietheresa]

Australia 🇦🇺 ✈️

[ketchup112]

[iamthedukeofurl]

Scott Pilgrim is, I think, the best example I can think of for establishing a setting's Nonsense Limit. The setting's Nonsense Limit isn't quite "How high-fantasy is this". It's mostly a question of presentation, to what degree does the audience feel that they know the rules the world operates by, such that they are primed to accept a random new element being introduced. A setting with a Nonsense Limit of 0 is, like, an everyday story. Something larger than life, but theoretically taking place in our world, like your standard spy thriller action movie has a limit of 1. Some sort of hidden world urban fantasy with wizards and stuff operating in secret has a nonsense limit around 3 or 4. A Superhero setting, presenting an alternate version of our world, is a 5 or 6. High fantasy comes in around a 7 or so, "Oh yeah, Wizards exist and they can do crazy stuff" is pretty commonly accepted. Scott Pilgrim comes in at a 10. If you read the Scott Pilgrim book, it starts off looking like a purely mundane slice of life. The first hint at the fantastical is Ramona appearing repeatedly in Scott's Dreams, and then later showing up in real life. When we finally get an explanation, it's this:

Apparently Subspace Highways are a thing? And they go through people's heads? And Ramona treats this like it's obscure, but not secret knowledge. Ramona doesn't think she's doing anything weird here. At this point, it's not clear if Scott is accepting Ramona's explanation or not, things kind of move on as mundane as ever until their Date, when Ramona takes Scott through subspace, and he doesn't act like his world was just blown open or anything, although I guess that could have been a metaphor. there's a couple other moments, but everything with Ramona could be a metaphor, or Scott not recognizing what's going on. Maybe Ramona is uniquely fantastical in this otherwise normal world. And then, this happens

Suddenly, a fantastical element (A shitty local indie band finishing their set with a song that knocks out most of the audience) is introduced unrelated to Ramona, and undeniably literal. We see the crowd knocked out by Crash and The Boys. but the story doesn't linger on the implications of that, the whole point of that sequence is to raise the Nonsense Level, such that you accept it when This happens

Matthew Patel comes flying down onto the stage, Scott, who until this point is presented as a terrible person and a loser, but otherwise is extremely ordinary, proceeds to flawlessly block and counter him before doing a 64-hit air juggle combo. Scott's friends treat this like Scott is showing off a mildly interesting party trick, like being really good at darts. The establish that Scott is the "Best Fighter in the Province", not only are street-fighter battles a thing, Scott is Very Good at it, but they're so unimportant that being the best fighter in the province doesn't make Scott NOT a loser. So when Matthew Patel shows off his magic powers and then explodes into a pile of coins, we've established "Oh, this is how silly the setting gets". It's not about establishing the RULES of the setting so much as it is about establishing a lack of rules. Scott's skill at street-fighter battles doesn't translate to any sort of social prestige. Ramona can access Subspace Highways and she uses it to do a basic delivery job. It doesn't make sense and it's clear that it's not supposed to. So later on, when Todd Ingram starts throwing around telekinesis, and the explanation we're given is "He's a Vegan" , you're already so primed by the mixture of weirdness and mundanity that rather than trying to incorporate this new knowledge into any sort of coherent setting ruleset, you just go "Ah, yeah, Vegans".

[waambles]

I did this drawing about a month ago, at a celebration of life for a very dear friend we lost too soon. The system had been having problems for a while particularly between puppy and dog. We healed a lot during that weekend and the two us made amends <3 grief is tough especially when you’re a system, but our friend loved us so much and we didn’t want to be fighting amongst eachother anymore. Communication in a system ,especially when you’re all stubborn, is hard but important. Especially when your most vulnerable and most closed off selves are at war LMAO

On the journey to loving myself, all of myself, more. without judgment

💕You’re not scary to lil ol me!💕

(🐺 He/It) and (🐶It/Puppy/He)

[xtruss]

NASA Flew a Modified U-2 Spy Plane Into Thunderstorms to Study Super-Energetic Gamma-Rays

An international group of researchers captured 'the most detailed' data on gamma-rays and thunderclouds ever.

— By Brett Tingley | Space.Com

NASA Pilots flew a high-altitude science aircraft directly into thunderstorms and recorded incredible data on gamma-ray flashes.

Thunderstorms can create powerful updrafts and downdrafts of wind that accelerate air and water to high speeds. As ice crystals collide in these swirling air currents, electrons are stripped away from them, generating the electric fields that produce lightning. Under certain conditions, these free electrons can also create flashes of gamma rays, the shortest and most energetic waves in the electromagnetic spectrum. Thunderstorms can emit two different types of gamma-ray radiation: Short gamma-ray flashes and longer gamma-ray glows that can last from minutes to hours.

To better understand these phenomena, an international group of scientists flew NASA's high-altitude ER-2 (Earth Resources 2) aircraft as close as safely possible to thunderclouds that stretched as high as 10 miles (18 kilometers), according to a statement from NASA's Marshall Flight Center in Alabama. Doing so allowed the team to gather "the most detailed airborne analysis of gamma rays and thunderclouds ever recorded," according to the statement.

A NASA ER-2 aircraft flies a mission for ALOFT mission to study gamma-rays in thunderclouds. (Image credit: NASA/Carla Thomas)

Researchers from the University of Bergen in Norway, the U.S. Naval Research Laboratory (NRL) and three different NASA centers participated in the study, known as Airborne Lightning Observatory for Fly's Eye GLM Simulator and Terrestrial gamma-ray flashes, or ALOFT. The data the program has gathered could "help scientists see when storms are strengthening and provide extra lead time of information to keep the public safe from the threat of lightning," NASA's Timothy Lang said in the statement.

The joint team that worked on the Airborne Lightning Observatory for Fly's Eye GLM Simulator (FEGS) and Terrestrial gamma-ray flashes (ALOFT) field campaign takes a break in front of NASA Armstrong's ER-2 aircraft following its safe return from a mission on July 24, 2023. (Image credit: NASA)

The aircraft flew out of Tampa, Florida and conducted over 60 hours of observations. A unique gamma-ray detector developed at the University of Bergen enabled researchers to collect data in real-time, enabling them to direct pilots towards thunderclouds that actively glowed with gamma-ray radiation.

Another instrument aboard the aircraft, the Fly's Eye GLM Simulator (FEGS), captured data in the near-infrared and ultraviolet wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum that are emitted by lightning yet are invisible to current satellites. "These smaller, less dense flashes are known as precursors of when storms are turning severe," Lang said.

NASA Armstrong Flight Research Center's ER-2 aircraft flies just above the height of thunderclouds over the Floridian and Caribbean coastlines to collect data about lightning glows and terrestrial gamma ray flashes. (Image credit: NASA/Carla Thomas)

The high-altitude NASA ER-2 aircraft used in the study is one of only two in the agency's possession. The aircraft can fly extremely high in the sky, above 99% of Earth's atmosphere. They were based on the Lockheed U-2 spy plane and were acquired by NASA in 1981 and 1989, respectively.

NASA's two ER-2 aircraft have flown more than 4,500 missions to date, and one of them set an extreme altitude record for its weight class in 1998 when it got 68,700 feet (21 kilometers) above Earth, according to a NASA fact sheet. (For perspective: Commercial airliners generally cruise at altitudes around 35,000 feet, or 11,000 m.)

NASA's ER-2 aircraft have been used to conduct studies on new satellite sensors, global warming and ozone levels, atmospheric phenomena and even snowfall.

[hedgehog-moss]

I've been worried this week about birds of prey attacking my chickens—well, one bird of prey. I heard a hen make her very characteristic INTRUDER cry the other day and ran out of the house and there was a hawk flying in circles high above. I half-heartedly threw some sticks in its direction and told my hen not to be so dramatic (the hawk looked like it was minding its own business frankly), but the next day it happened again, and I thought, I've been unfair to the hens, the hawk from yesterday was actually reconnoitering and they could tell. Then there was another alert the next day. I was starting to get a bit alarmed about the fact that I was dealing with the world's most determined hawk—though I didn't see it again past the first time, I figured I arrived too late and Pandolf had already deterred it.

I ended up setting up a pen for the hens very near my house, under the hazel tree so they'd be sheltered, and spying from the kitchen window the next day, to see if it was still the same bird or what. It tended to attack at the same time every day, which was extra baffling.

And what I saw was Pandolf returning from his daily morning patrol around the pasture, faff around looking a bit bored, circle my house looking for me, and when he didn't find me, go to the chickens' pen and pretend to pounce on them like a fox, which startled them and made them cry out. Pandolf didn't touch them, he clearly just wanted them to make their magical Make Human Appear noise. Immediately after they yelped he turned to look at the front door expectantly, waiting for me to run out. He knows that when I get distracted from what I was doing indoors I often end up being like, well, now that I'm outside I might as well go do [outdoor chore of the day] and he gets to tag along, so he concocted this devious plan...

So. I must turn this post into a callout post for Pandolf. This is the face of a problematic dog, who tried to frame a hawk and use innocent hens for his own ends after he realised their person-summoning noises work while his do not.

[disneybooklist]

The High Flying Spy (1972)

High spy by Robert Edmond alter (1967)

[such-a-downer]

Tobe flyyy hiiiigh

Ase to chi to namida de 🎶

[liahaslosthermind]

~𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭~ Part 1

Part 1 of The Spy Master's Secret Find more ACOTAR works here! Summary: The Inner Circle has questions they need answered, too bad the one person they rely on for secret information is also the one who doesn't want to answer it. Warnings: Swearing, Cas and Rhysand fight, mention of *that* Solstice conversation, but I actually write Rhys as not an asshole in this one

Part 2 out now!

“It would certainly be me!” Nesta yelled, her voice joining the many that were arguing in the Inner Circle. 

Her mate let out a bellowing laugh, finding the statement ridiculous. She wouldn’t have been as pissed, had he not doubled over when realizing how very serious she was. 

“Nesta, don’t be ridiculous. You could be attached to him for 100 years straight and it still wouldn’t hold a candle to either me nor Cassian.” Rhysand stated, the air of superiority around him while making such a statement caused a shoe to fly at his head.

“Don’t be an ass, Rhys.” 

“Of course, Ferye, Darling.” The High Lord slumped down a little at that. 

The argument had been going on for far too long and after far too many drinks consumed, there wasn’t a resolution in sight.

“Well, now that we have established Nesta is out of the running, does anyone want to nominate themselves? Or will it only be Rhys and I?” Cassian asked.

Everyone was silent, minus Nesta who was angrily huffing at both her mate and his brother’s arrogance. 

“Good. Now, Rhysand, tell me what in Prythian has possessed you to think he would ever pick you over me?”

“What! Cas, you cannot actually be serious enough to think it would be yo-”

“If I remember correctly, one Solstice night a few years ago dethroned you forever.”

“That is not fair and you know it! Plus, we have made up tenfold.”

“Doesn’t matter, its about principles.”

“Please! Cassian, what the fuck do you know about principles?”

“Oh, I’ll show you principles alright-” Was all the General said before he promptly tackled Rhysand to the ground. 

Everyone else in the room just rolled their eyes. It seemed the fight would never end. 

“What am I looking at?” Lucian asked as he walked in on the brawl, noting how Amren and Mor were in the corner exchanging money for the bets they had already placed on the two Illyrians still fighting on the ground. 

“Cassian called himself Azriel’s best friend.” Elain explained as she moved over slightly on the couch, beckoning her mate forward. 

“I thought he was?” Lucian replied.

“Thank you!... I knew- I liked… you, Vanserra” Cassian managed to get out while Rhysand tried and failed to put him in a headlock. 

“I still think it's me.” Nesta grumbled. 

“I don’t understand why you all can’t ask Azriel himself?” Gwyn pitched in. 

The two brothers stopped their fighting as everyone looked to the priestess. 

Clearly, the thought hadn’t crossed anyones’ mind.

They all slowly turned to the Shadowsinger, who had been sitting in the chair by the corner of the room, shadows dancing around him, clearly enjoying the show as much as he was. 

“Come on, boy. Put the two most powerful idiots in Prythian out of their misery.” Amren said commanded 

The rest of the Inner Circle waited impatiently for Azriel’s response, which he purposefully took a pause before answering to torture them.

“Cassian, Rhysand, you both are my brothers. But I wouldn’t classify either of you as my best friend.” He finally responded. “What the fuck?” “Are you serious?” They yelled over each other.

“Ha! I knew it had to be m-” Nesta was cut off by the hand Azriel raised, pausing her thought. 

“Nesta, you are a very dear friend of mine. I appreciate our friendship very much… but it isn’t you either.”

The tension building from everyone’s anticipation was almost suffocating. 

The Spy Master opened his mouth then, deciding better of it, closed it. Getting out of his chair and walking to the door without a word. 

“Hold on!” Rhysand yelled and the House of Wind shut the door in front of Azriel, as if it too wanted to hear his answer.

Unamused, Azriel turned around to the sea of expectant faces.

“Azriel. You don’t think your… shadows are your best friend, right?” Cassian asked, a pitying tone in his voice.

Az’s shoulders shook with silent laughter at the string of curses his shadows sent at the General, even if Cassian couldn’t hear them.

“No, I don’t. But they don’t appreciate the tone, Cas.” Azriel answered as he watched his shadows menacingly circle Cassian. Finally deciding to put everyone out of their misery, he replied: 

“You don’t know her.” 

Before walking into the shadows, escaping the shouts of vulgarity that filled the room at his nonresponse.

A/n: Do y'all want a part 2?

Update: Read part 2 here!

[hoots-the-owl]

Sometimes a family can be two guys who kill for a living and an orphaned mafia boss daughter

[lacroixqueen]

sparks fly - deadpool x fem!reader

Summary: deadpool has been stalking reader who works at a diner. he ends up hatching a diabolical plan to get reader's attention

Pairing: fem!reader x deadpool

Word Count: 1.3k

Wade knew he was obsessed with you from the moment he laid eyes on you. 

It was a dark, rainy night in the city, and you were closing shift at the diner. You liked closing shift. Especially on weeknights like this when it was generally pretty quiet. You were placing dirty plates and utensils into the bus tub when you heard what you swore to be shattering dishes from the back of the kitchen. 

Your back stiffened as you peered over your shoulder to the shadowy, unlit part of the restaurant. 

“Hello..?” you called out carefully. 

Silence.

You carried on with your tasks for the remainder of the evening, unsure exactly of what you heard but too terrified to investigate. 

He was already watching you this entire time. He admired the subtle curve of your waist. How your apron tied around your hips in an adorable little bow. The way your thigh-high stockings dug ever so slightly into your skin. 

He knew that sneaking into this rinky dink little dinner to spy on some random girl he found somewhat attractive off of a split second impression was.. reckless to say the least. But recklessness has never stopped him before. 

Wade stationed himself next to the dishwasher, staying still as a statue until you turned around the corner.

“Boo,” he said without so much as a care in the world.

You screamed, of course, and instinctively threw your entire tray of plates at him. “What the fuck!”

“What the fuck is right!” he answered gleefully, effortlessly brushing the completely filled bus tub to the side, not even flinching as even more silverware crashed into the ground. “And you are actually in big trouble! Like biiiiig trouble. This entire diner, and probably all the buildings around it are going to be incinerated within the next.. 5 minutes? So if I were you, I would leave everything behind and follow me while you still have the chance.”

You watched as the diabolical man in what you could only describe as some sort of BDSM gimp suit pantomimed every single word that came out of his month with a bravado of a world renowned circus performer. 

“And.. who are you exactly?” you asked, folding your arms across your chest and raising your eyebrow. 

“Deadpool. Spelled like dead and pool,” he replied confidently, sticking his hand out.

“Uh huh,” you said, allowing him to shake your limp wrist. In your mind you were calculating the fastest way to reach the store phone to dial 9-11. “What a.. pleasure.”

“So.. you are coming with me,” he established. “As in, I am going to take you away from this building. Because it is about to blow up. There is a bomb some psycho what’s his face planted in the basement and you are way too pretty to die this young, so I am just going to have to rescue you right here right now.”

“You- what?” you stammered out, but before you could even muster another word, the mercenary had already swept you off your feet bridal style. “Hey! Put me down. Right now.”

“Yeah, sorry that’s not really gonna be an option sweetheart,” Wade snapped back with a wit as sharp as a knife. “Oh, and look at the time! Only one more minute left.”

And with those words, he quickly darted out the back door of the diner into a dingy alleyway. You reflexively wrapped your arms around his neck, taking note of how sturdy his arms felt underneath your legs. 

“Whatever you do,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “Don’t. Drop me.” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice!” Wade chirped as he scurried down the avenue, maneuvering around a sharp corner. “You’re precious cargo, and besides, the whole point of this entire stunt was-”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you heard a loud “boom”, now realizing you were miles away from the diner you were just at. You felt the ground shake under Wade’s feet, and a gust of warm wind blowing from the explosion site. 

You gazed over Deadpool’s shoulder, and gasped as you watched the distant part of the city being engulfed in flames. 

“You.. you saved my life..” you murmured. “H-how did you even..”

“Well, if I were to lie, and we all know I am very good at that,” the assassin began. “I would say it was sort of a right place right time sort of situation. As in I was just innocently strolling around the block when I noticed a big bad evil villain, aka my arch nemesis plant a little, let’s just call it grenade downstairs. So, I, being the upstanding citizen that I am, decided to walk right in and save the day. Yay! Let’s just go with that.”

“And if you were to be honest?” you challenged, untangling yourself from his arms and stepping down onto the sidewalk. You realized since you were in a slightly calmer state of mind, and actually standing face-to-face to him under the streetlight, that he was literally towering over you by at least a head. 

“Hmm, you got me there princess,” he capitulated. “If I were being real, I would say the part about me being in the right place at the right time was true.”

“Go on,” you chided, beginning to rub the middle of your forehead. You could already feel that this was not about to end well.

“Buuuuut, you were just too cute. I really had no idea how to approach you. So, the most logical conclusion was to throw a wrench into the sink, or should I say a bomb into your diner, and time it perfectly so I could sneak in, pull you aside, and er, get you outta there? And here we are. Ta-daaaa!” he embellished the ending of the entire debacle with jazz hands, as if he was telling a casual story to a group of friends. 

“You.. are unbelievable!” you shouted, pushing him against his chest, and not really causing enough force to have him step back. “What kind of sick, twisted joke is this?!” You threw a punch against him with every single word. “You really thought this would be the way to get my attention? Instead of, oh, I don’t know, just coming up to me and striking up a conversation like a normal fucking person?”

“Cute, very cute. Adorable,” Deadpool commented as he watched you attempt to hurt him, almost as if he were observing an unfamiliar specimen in the wild. “God, you are so cute.”

“That’s all you have to say?!” you cried. “After blowing up part of the city? You are a psychopath.”

“Eh, not even wrong,” he shrugged. “Nowadays I even take that as a compliment.”

“I-I’m gonna call the police!” you ultimately decided, whipping out your cell phone from your back pocket. 

“Oh, no no no I would not do that,” Wade said, effortlessly grabbing the device from your hand and texting his phone before you could notice. “Just.. they aren’t a big fan. Of me.”

“You think?!” you seethed. “God. You are insane. You know that?” You stood up on your tippy toes, trying to take your phone back. 

Wade eventually relented, motioning to hand it back to you before you snatched it out of his hand. 

“And never speak to me again,” you shot back at him as you walked in the opposite direction. 

“So does that mean I can pick you up at 7 tomorrow?” the assassin called after you. “I know a really nice place downtown.. er, wait that might have been blown up.”

You stormed off without another word, self-assured that this would be the last you would ever see of him. But you were sorely mistaken. 

[pellucid-constellations]

Set in Stone

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: The Court of Nightmares is an evil place. Secret agendas, forced marriages, malicious intent; there’s nothing good or pure. But then Azriel finds you.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Angst but just a little to start

a/n: hi 😌 please enjoy my random inspo after the mess that is my life happened. I plan to write more for these guys so consider this a prologue :)

Masterlist ♡

~~

Time moved slower in the library. 

People spoke quieter, the air stood still, dim sunlight stiffened in lines that cut across endless tables. 

There was no real reason for you to be here. 

None at all. 

You welcomed the faint buzzing in your ears anyway, relished in the quiet you couldn’t find elsewhere. Flipping the page and going to the next, you pretended you did belong. Maybe as a scholar or researcher. Maybe an acclaimed author. An inventor, entrepreneur, alchemist—anything but the bleak reality. 

You were stuck. So, incredibly stuck. 

The high lord was coming today. You knew if you weren't in the hall with your family upon his arrival you would get an earful, but it was difficult to pull away from your beautiful corner of the night court.

No one ever came in here, and if they did they were over a millennium old and cared only for the books on foreign policy and probably the torture of young children, if you had to take a guess. But there was plenty of enjoyable material lining the shelves. Sure, it wasn’t very joyful, but it was informative, and anything was better than listening to your father blab on about your marriage prospects—an uncomfortable conversation that was to come to fruition any day now. 

With any luck, your husband would be a merchant who traveled endlessly or a soldier whose life would come to a quick end, leaving you free of any wifely obligations. But luck was hardly on your side, and as the daughter of a noble you were expecting a husband of the same station. 

And dukes were the absolute worst, all self-important and stagnant.  

An unfamiliar echo sent your head whipping to the side before you could tame your reaction. The library door swung open with such force it sent dusty air flying past your face. Typically, the old men entered meekly, the hefty door difficult for them to open. The abruptness of this entry, the power that seeped across the threshold, had you standing and pressing yourself against the table in milliseconds. 

You weren’t a fighter. Women were not allowed to learn anything of the sort here. You briefly debated if your embroidery skills would be enough to pose a threat to this presence, but that thought wisped away with the flickering shadows twining around your ankles. 

You didn’t recognize him at first. The high lord and his circle didn’t come to court often, and even when they did, they stayed far away on the dais or slinked around in hallways threateningly. And this man especially—the spy—he was almost always cloaked in shadow. 

His shadows weren’t covering him now, instead opting to twist up your body in a terrifying display. Were they searching you? Attempting to suffocate you? Paralyze you? 

It didn’t matter much, not when the shadowsinger himself was standing before you, exposed and armed to the teeth, his amber eyes locked on your own widened gaze. 

Your breath came out in short pants, uncomfortable and hard to capture. Your knuckles went white against the table, and you were sure if you were stronger, fractures would have appeared in the wood. The edge dug into your back. Shadows continued to make paths up your skin. 

The spymaster didn’t look away. 

The trembling began. It started with your jaw, then your legs, and then your chest. Breathing became nearly impossible. 

“Take care of that.” 

The last time the high lord made his rounds in court, those words had been a death sentence. One the man before you had carried out. A simple flick of his wrist and shadows had encased the lowly merchant that had insulted the high lady. His screams still echoed in the hall. 

At least, they echoed for you. 

The merchant was not a good man. Most that resided in the night court were not good people. But death was easy to come by here, and the shadowsinger—with his glaring siphons only inches away—was an executioner. 

Your life was little, meaningless, no direction or purpose other than marriage and continuing a family line, but you wanted to live for the chance of more. For the hope that one day, you might be free of this dank palace. 

Something softened in the spymaster’s eyes, and then he took a step forward, edging his hand towards you, palm up. The screeching of the table at your back made him halt. Your knees were shaking, your book now toppled over to the floor, and the shadows had refused to answer the call from their master. But you stood your ground, expecting a bruise where the table connected to your skin. 

“I apologize,” the Illyrian spoke, causing you to flinch once again. His own features seemed to recoil, and he took half a step back. “I am here on business for the high lord. I only seek the artifact room.” 

If you answered him, perhaps he would spare you. 

Your mouth opened and closed several times before the first sounds left your lips. “In the back. B-by the archives.” 

He nodded, but the action seemed delayed, slowed. As if he was measuring your reactions, trying to anticipate them. When you didn’t flinch again, he sent his hand out once more, this time with more force. Your breath caught, but when the shadows retreated from your body, some of the tension left you. 

The shadowsinger sidestepped, taking the longest route possible around your table toward the artifact room. Once his back was turned, you scrambled. You left the book spine up on the floor, quickly gathering your belongings with shaking hands and trembling fingers. The echoing of the man’s heavy boots rang with each step he took, but it was reassuring—it meant he was getting further and further away. 

It wasn’t until your hand met the sturdy door that fear crept back along the edges of your chest. 

“Your name?” 

The words were powerful, gravelly, but they were soft somehow. Effortfully tamed. 

You gave him your name, but the sound was lost in the swinging of the door.