Luke brought the bat back again twice, finally sending the lamp flying into the opposite wall. It wasn't long until he came storming after it, overturning a table in a matter of seconds. A shower of papers filled the air. Is this my talent? Is this what I'm good for?
No one had argued about taking him along this time. No one had argued about letting him come and help murder the murderers. Maybe he'd wanted them to. No. Maybe it felt good, to be recognized as capable. A loose cannon, but capable. I just want George to get it.
Bad. Feels bad.
Breathing out angrily through clenched teeth, Luke turned to look at April; for a moment his expression flickered, unsure of itself, before settling into a look of affectionate frustration.
"What do you think?" He asked her. About this. About what's happening. "What's in your head?"