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— What is it? — Flora reacted instantly, the anger in her squeaky notes replaced by professional alertness. She silently flew closer to him, reducing the shimmer of her wings to a minimum, and when she settled on the back of his neck, she pressed them to her back completely, muting the light entirely. Clutching his hair with her tiny fingers like vines and pressing her lush breasts against him so that Marcus, though he didn’t show it, still felt it, she stretched her neck, peeking out from behind his massive head as if from around the corner of a fortress wall.
— I don’t see anything... — Flora whispered in response to her companion’s silence, and then, as if realizing how she must look right now, she shifted slightly away from his head, stretched out her arms, and added through clenched teeth, — I think you’re overestimating your new abilities. We’ve been walking around here for three hours already. I think intel was wrong.
Granite didn’t answer right away. He simply froze like a concrete pillar in the middle of Second Avenue at night: trash bags, rusty shop grates, graffiti skeletons on the walls. And it looked like there really was that basement stairway hiding from them behind the dumpsters. From there came that thin metallic scraping again. Not loud. But too rhythmic to be a rat.
Flora squinted. Her wings barely shimmered, but she pulled herself together despite everything that had happened “before.” Massive experience made itself known.
— Well? — she leaned forward, and her white bikini top stretched so tight that she herself had to swallow her irritation. That stupid costume reminded her of itself again: it had been with her since the very beginning of awakening, not like a second skin, no, but more like the only thing she could wear now — humiliating, yes, but for some reason other clothes felt even worse. — Listen, buddy. If this is another “a can fell over,” I... I’ll turn you into a frog, got it? — Flora whispered, trying to sound threatening, but with her squeaky tone the threat came out more comical than scary.
Granite gave a barely audible snort.
— Better fly over there. I’ll circle from the other side.
— Are you serious? — she hissed, pulling away from the back of his neck and adding, — Since when are you the boss?
— Not now, Alex, — Granite repeated quietly but firmly, not taking his eyes off the stairway. — We’ll sort out who’s the boss later. Right now — fly. I’m going from the other side.
Flora froze in midair for a moment, her wings trembling with anger and… fear. Not for herself. For him. Despite his huge size, she still saw him as that same Marcus who often stayed alive only thanks to her, Alex, and his command skills. But he was right. Now was not the time.
— To hell with you, — she hissed and darted toward the dumpsters, trying to control the light from her wings, which still faintly glimmered against the rusty metal of the trash containers, where there really was a stairway down.