The only thing she felt in seeing the scar was a flicker of jealousy. It lived on, and burned low, never reaching her eyes but warming her all the while. How dare he carry the marks of someone other than herself! The permanence of the scar secured her hatred of Shane, nails in the coffin. Daniel would have that scar forever.
The silver graze of her attention slid down all of his angles, and back up again. "Speak," she enunciated slowly. Crossing her pale hands beneath the dark halo of her hair. Relaxed and waiting for something. This alluded to negotiation, perhaps.