The thing was, Azazel wasn’t stupid. Maybe Ishmael liked to tell himself she was - and she was chaos personified, to be sure - but she was as quick-witted as anyone, and there was nothing she was better at than spotting the right loose thread to pull on that would see the whole thing unravel.
But maybe she was putting thoughts into his head, seeing motive where there wasn’t one. Maybe it was misplaced paranoia. Maybe she just hated him for not being so quick to defend her. Maybe ruining his camaraderie with Galina was revenge for that. He didn’t know.
He just didn’t know.
And Ishmael fucking hated not knowing. This was more than a century thrown into doubt, this was - he had always thought it was a woman, though he had never seen her face. He couldn’t tell how much of his memory was true, the rest sketched in through the agony and the delirious thirst. Azazel could enjoy it, Galina could try and hide her stricken look, but all Ishmael could feel was a crackling tension in the air and the idea that he’d been tricked somehow, lied to for the last few years, taken for a fool.
He would much rather do this without Azazel present, but he felt if he didn’t attack it now the wisp of a truth would dissipate and never be his to find again. He stepped away from them both, turned away for a minute to try and smooth his head, control the expression on his face. “No?” Ishmael asked finally, meeting her eye to see what she would do, though now he wasn’t convinced he could trust anyone but himself. “So you’ve never visited New York, Galina?”
But maybe she was putting thoughts into his head, seeing motive where there wasn’t one. Maybe it was misplaced paranoia. Maybe she just hated him for not being so quick to defend her. Maybe ruining his camaraderie with Galina was revenge for that. He didn’t know.
He just didn’t know.
And Ishmael fucking hated not knowing. This was more than a century thrown into doubt, this was - he had always thought it was a woman, though he had never seen her face. He couldn’t tell how much of his memory was true, the rest sketched in through the agony and the delirious thirst. Azazel could enjoy it, Galina could try and hide her stricken look, but all Ishmael could feel was a crackling tension in the air and the idea that he’d been tricked somehow, lied to for the last few years, taken for a fool.
He would much rather do this without Azazel present, but he felt if he didn’t attack it now the wisp of a truth would dissipate and never be his to find again. He stepped away from them both, turned away for a minute to try and smooth his head, control the expression on his face. “No?” Ishmael asked finally, meeting her eye to see what she would do, though now he wasn’t convinced he could trust anyone but himself. “So you’ve never visited New York, Galina?”
