Her eyes widened, equally stirred by the lose of Mr. Glass' hand and the pleased laugh that rattled his teeth in their cage. Aside from the flash of timberwolf gray in the eyes, she didn’t seem too perturbed by the realization that she'd just ripped the magician’s hand off.
Fake hand!
Oh. Her attention dropped to the hand, still caught in the curl of her fingers. She turned it over with autistic curiosity, registering that the wrist truly bore no gushing blood or tattered joint. Meanwhile, Vaughn dexterously ignored his accusation that implied her rudely obvious boredom. While it was true that very few things interested Vaughn anymore, she didn't dwell too much on worries of boredom or loneliness. In her own little blackhole, she operated and thrived and was fascinated alone.
“You're a clever man, Mr. Glass.” The pale cut of her attention rose from the hand and pinned him. Somehow, it didn't sound like a compliment.