Anora inhaled when her eyes again strayed to his, his guarding hand now away from his face. Feelings and emotions not hers flooded through her, but she tore her gaze away before they could finish. With a heavy exhale, she kept her head pointed forward.
	Her eyes shifted toward him, careful to avoid the apparent trigger of eye contact. She had heard that the eyes were the window to the soul, but this gave the saying new depth. If whatever kept happening every time they met gazes really were his emotions. 
	And she thought [i]she[/i] had a mental struggle going on.
	But were the emotions she had felt directed at her, or something else? Or even both, if not neither? Did it happen with just her, or anyone who happened a passing glance?
	Suddenly glad she wasn’t an empath—at least not under normal circumstances—she looked to the sketchbook propped open on her knees as she waited for Darsby to answer. Her own contemplations softened the edge of her usual impatience.
	She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves and steady her breaths.
	When Darsby spoke again, she instinctively turned her head toward him. Remembering at the last moment to avoid looking him in the eye—her dad had always drilled the importance of holding eye contact in a conversation—she let her gaze settle on the small space between them.
	Her brows furrowed at his tone. It sounded like he was about to apologize. She raised her gaze, still avoiding looking him in the eye. Though she didn’t know [i]what[/i] to expect from him, an ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t on her list.
	She watched him move as he spoke, a finger tapping impatiently on the hard cover of her sketchbook. He paused in speech more than anyone she had met in a long while. It was rather annoying.
	Her tapping stopped and she gawked at the news of how she would track Pan. “Blood magic?” she interrupted, not expecting him to stop to answer. Her eager surprise at a new type of magic being more than lore turned into a frustrated frown at his critique about how she used her powers.
	“I don’t ‘toss’ my powers about freely!” she grumbled indignantly. “Well. Okay. Maybe a bit,” she added, thinking about how regularly and even heedlessly she used them day-to-day. “But I can control it well, and people can’t see it, anyway.”
	She took a deep breath, looking away from him. She shook her head slightly. “Until I met you, I… I thought I was the only one,” she finished the sentence quietly.
	[i]Feared, more like,[/i] she corrected silently as she opened a hand in front of her. She let a few licks of her mist rise into her palm. It swirled lazily just above her skin, the colors of her irises intensifying and glowing slightly.
	“I’ve been practicing with it for years. Trying to find and push my limits. But there’s only so much one can teach themself.”
	She exhaled and closed her hand. The mist puffed out from between her fingers before extinguishing, and her irises reverted to normal. She returned her gaze to his face, but didn’t meet his eyes.
	“You’ve got yourself a deal, Darsby; teach me about my powers and how to use them, and I’ll do everything I can to help you find Pan.” She struggled to keep her excitement and eagerness out of her voice.
	There had never been a doubt in her mind; one way or another, she would have agreed to help him. Even if he hadn’t offered to teach her, she could at least learn by watching.
	But there was still a question nagging at the back of her mind.
	“But there’s something you said right before you…” she trailed off, her face scrunching in uncertainty as to if she wanted ‘died’ or ‘went unconscious.’ “Before I drove us here,” she went with instead. “If you want my help, I need to know what I’m up against. So who’s after us, and why?” 
	She watched him, her gaze as stern as her demanding question. A [i]third[/i] question, but she really didn’t care. The worst he could do was not answer.