Daniel stared with the disgust turning deeply at the bottom of his stomach as the laugh rippled over him like a splash of acid. What in the hell was funny? He had hoped, on some days, that the eventual meeting with the ephemeral blackmailer would reveal something of her nature--something about why, if not the how or where. Yet now he could divine nothing from her. She was a void of unexpected blades without a flash to warn him that the blackness wasn't empty. This made her more dangerous, rather than less, and though his fear was wrapped up mainly in anticipation and habit, he still saw her as far more than she was.
His silence and stillness was a direct contrast to her languid movement. The laughter had no room to echo, for the walls were thick and the glass muffled by lengths of curtain. He did not like giving into her, and turned to face her, still bristling against the chills that kept crawling up his skin on spindly legs. "I'll stand." Dropping his gaze, then looking back up with unmistakable hatred. "Make yourself comfortable," he added, with flat sarcasm. He wound his arms over his chest, and the movement pulled an inch of shirt collar aside over the deep curve from shoulder to throat. Shane's scar was barely visible, proving that while he was pale, he was not as white as that new scar.