Elliot brought one hand up to his temple, pressed his index finger against it. He was sure something was odd, but lowered his hand and shrugged at her. ''If you're certain,'' he said, sounding unconvinced. ''I am alright — magical incidents," he said, ''Make my Sight odd.''
He hoped that she knew he had the Sight. It was never a guarantee.
He hoped that she knew he had the Sight. It was never a guarantee.