said it. I realized my hearing had not gotten sensitive, that most of the people were speaking loud enough for me to hear them. Which meant they were looking for a reaction. My eyes scanned the crowd as I left the line with my tray. The professionally dressed people looked away. About ninety percent of the folks in casual dress did likewise if they saw me look at them; a quick, furtive glance here and there if they got “caught.”
But a few of the men in suits – the agents – were speckled throughout the crowd, and their looks were hard, hiding behind furrowed brows and cold eyes. And a small contingent of the casually dressed – the metas – were glaring and not bothering to hide it. They were all concentrated around one table.
I stared back at them, defiant. Yeah, I screwed up. But good luck getting me to admit it in public. I didn’t bat an eye as their ringleader, a young guy probably only a few years older than me, gave me the stare-down right back. He had short dark hair and a nose that rounded a little at the end. The look of spite in his eyes overpowered his other features, turning what might otherwise have been a nice smile into something that looked more like a downward facing crescent moon.
I saw a small table empty in the far corner where the two windowed walls met each other – maybe the last unoccupied table in the place. Not a friendly face in sight, just a lot of people shunning me and a few more that were clearly pissed. Perfect. I pondered just carrying my tray out the door and back to my room where I could eat in comfortable solitude, but something in me resisted it.
I’d been alone for years. Locked away, trapped, whatever. It didn’t bother me if I had to eat by myself. In a lot of ways, especially right now, doing that would have been the easiest choice. But still, my brain resisted the notion, urging me to not let these people get to me, to not run away and hide.
So when I picked my path to the empty table I made sure it went right past the group of metas that were scowling me down.
I waited to see if they would speak as I approached. I even pondered being a real ass and inviting myself to sit down in one of the empty seats at their table, but decided against it. I may not have been looking to make friends, but I didn’t want to actively cultivate enemies if I didn’t have to.
I just wanted to…confront them. Just a bit.
I almost didn’t get my wish. They kept silent and a few even broke off their glares as I approached. I returned each hostile look in kind, until finally I rested my eyes once more on the young man: the ringleader, judging by the vibe I was getting off him. He didn’t look away. He was waiting to see if I’d flinch.
I didn’t. But neither did he. He stood up as I passed. Damn. Thought I was gonna make it by.
“Hey,” he called out. “Friends of mine got killed on your stupid errand.”
“I’m sorry about your friends,” I said with an astounding level of calm for the tension I was feeling inside. I think I meant it.
“‘Sorry’ doesn’t bring them back.” His glare was piercing.
“Neither does anything else I can do.” The acerbic edge to my statement was probably what pissed him off. “Unless I have some amazing powers of resurrection I have yet to discover.”
His look got angrier, thanks to narrowed eyes and a snarl on his lips. “They stuck their necks out for you.”
“Far be it from me to suggest otherwise. But they also died doing the jobs that they took on, that Old Man Winter sent them to do. They knew there was a risk Wolfe could be there.” I had stopped my forward motion and waited for Mr. Angry to reply. Might as well get this out of the way, and if I was lucky I could get the entire cafeteria off my back in one move.
“So you’re one of the self-superior metas that gives the rest of us a bad name.” His arms were folded across his body. “Don’t really care if a bunch of humans die, so long as you get what you want.”
I had a feeling that one was going to sting later but for now