Gods Under The Dome

17.2

《Into the Night》

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"You leave soon?"

Nol leans against the table on the far wall, loaded with beakers and brightly colored Elysium. The drug has yet to reduce, maintaining a greenish tint that, with enough heat, will turn the blue Nol requires for the drug to be considered good. He inhales his coffee, the corners of his lips turning upward as he pulls the cup away. The burgeoning smile only grows wider as he meets my gaze head-on.

I swivel on my stool to avoid giving him any notion that I enjoyed the way he looked at me, or that I had even noticed it to begin with. I hoped he would mistake my uncomfortableness with indifference, but-- when the stool goes full-circle, I find that the smile has taken root in Nol's eyes. Who was I kidding? He knew. Of course he knew.

"Mid-level should be on nighttime rotation," I say, picking at the plastic wrapping around a bundle of Elysium. Rows of three by five bottles rattle with each of my assaults, sapphire liquid sloshing around their insides. A dozen more packages lined the table. All divided, parceled and ready for today's run. "Della wants to do it under the cover of dark for added security."

Nol takes another swig from his mug, swallows. A dribble of liquid treks down his chin, which he ignores with perfect Nol-tenacity. "And it'll just be you, Marava and Quint?"

I shake my head. "Keran's coming...and Sin."

He chuckles and runs a finger along the mug's lid, the last wrungs odo coffee steam blistering his cheeks a bright red. "Nighttime doesn't provide enough shadow to hide his presence."

"I couldn't agree more, but," I grab one of the satchels used to carry the Elysium and start stuffing packs into it. I could fit eight, ten if I really wanted to weigh myself down. Deciding on nine, I grab three more packs. "We need the manpower."

As I'm grabbing the eighth package, Nol's hand touches my wrist. "You don't have to do this."

I try to smile, even though I hate moments like this. His pity made me feel like I was the victim, like I'd had someone ripped from me, when in fact, I'd done the ripping. Nol's pity, which gathered in his eyes and could be felt in the gentle way his fingertips caressed my skin, was yet another lie we told each other. We were both killers, but neither of us wanted to admit it. 

"I made a deal," I say, shrinking away from his touch and jamming the last pack in the bag. I heft it over my shoulder, letting the bulk ride against my hip.

Nol frowns, then pulls out a small orange bottle. "At least take this." He holds it out for me.

"What is it?"

"Something to keep you awake. I know," his gaze burrows into me again. "With the nightmares and the long days that you've been pretty exhausted."

I shake my head. "I have not. I've been--"

He grabs my hand, shoves the pill bottle into my palm. "Be careful." 

His touch, as always, lingers. Fingers tracing the lines of my palm, while his gaze remains steady on my face. It's moments like this when I think he'll kiss me. He'll close the gap, I'll feel the heat of his breath, the warmth of his arms as they pull me into him, and then his lips will press into mine. But that fancy never fully actualizes.

There's restraint to his body language, in the strain he puts on himself to remain so rigid, which is so unlike how he holds himself every other waking moment of his life. Maybe it's hesitation that causes his muscles to tense or maybe it's repulsion, at the blood on my hands, on his own, but no matter. Whatever it is keeps him rooted to the spot, and I'm too much of a coward to take the lead.