‘Fill the glasses with treacle and ink,’ Sophia said.
Nasira blinked, pried the barrel from her temple. ‘How the f**k did you do that?’
‘I can do that because I left your Auto-Thanatos parapsyche intact.’
‘Talk English.’
Sophia raised her eyebrow, conscious of the scar that divided it. ‘Auto-Thanatos is self-mutilation and self-destruction.’ She leaned forward. ‘I’m safe from you. But you, not so much.’
Nasira weighed the pistol with one hand. She gave Sophia a wry grin and discarded it. ‘It felt a bit light. So, let me get this straight. You’re saying I’m going around killing innocent people, thinking they’re terrorists. And this whole war on terror thing—what is that meant to be, a joke? I’m sorry, but that’s too stupid to take seriously.’
‘As long as we have a false enemy,’ Sophia
