“Vin,” comes a soft voice.
“Finny,” Vince garbles out. He's always so tired lately.
“Wanna look over Durand's wonky case with me?” Illson bribes, voice lilting like he thinks he can gentle Vince out of his bad mood.
“Do I have to move,” Vince asks in a flat whine.
“Nah.” He hears Illson drop into a chair he scoots to the edge of Vince's desk, like they're partnering up in school. “Might have to come up with a background in neurology though, the chemistry on it's like—”
“Neurology?” Vince lowers his hands from his face, blinking to clear the dark spots from his vision as he turns to Illson.
The pathologist lifts one imperious brow. “You didn't listen to Casper's explanation at all, did you,” he accuses. “He worked so hard to dumb it down for you, too.”
Vince doesn't take the bait. Am
