"Yeah," Will sighed and gave her hand a squeeze. "Screws with your head, don't it?"
The last time he had seen the real Hermes – the only time he had seen the real Hermes, he had to remind himself – had been over a year ago when the fucker had invited himself over to their place against Clio's request that he stay away and thrown himself on the couch in a grand old woe's-me swoon. They'd come face-to-face for all of two minutes and exchanged about as many words.
But Will kept remembering the Hermes who'd sent him those smarmy messages, all false friendliness with an undercurrent of threat. The one who'd had him tailed and showed up at his workshop and made it clear in every way he could that Clio didn't get to choose to cut Hermes out, she didn't have a choice in the matter. That Hermes had been an impostor, he knew that now, but the way he'd treated Clio didn't seem all that different from the real deal. They'd both been happy to use her as a toy.
Even now, it was a struggle to separate the two in his mind. It had to be so much harder for Clio. Hermes had hurt her so bad, and he'd treated that hurt like it was nothing, but he was her brother still and she couldn't stop herself from caring. And now he was the one hurt, tortured in the kind of way that haunted her nightmares, and Will knew she still felt the sting of guilt that she'd not twigged to the impostor earlier, even though nobody else had either. Fuck, it was a mess.
"Guess we just play it by ear, then, eh?" he suggested, with a small, tight quirk of the mouth that was almost a smile. "You need a minute first?"