Mara looks like she hasn’t slept since the last time I saw her, which was in a bar bathroom with her claws on my throat, and the fact that my first thought upon seeing the woman who threatened to kill me is “she looks terrible” instead of “I should run” tells me everything I need to know about how thoroughly my survival instincts have been dismantled by the Voss men because a normal person would be dialing 911 and I’m standing between the humanities building and the science block feeling sorry for her.
She’s thinner than she was at The Iron – her cheekbones are sharper and her skin has a greyish undertone that shouldn’t exist on someone this beautiful, and her hands are trembling at her sides with the kind of tremor I recognize from my mom’s worst boyfriends except that Mara’s tremor migh
