Emilie didn't so much as flinch or move when he reached out with his hand, fingers just inches from her throat. If anything, it appeared as though her eyes flashed a little brighter, her interest positively piqued. There were plenty of interesting people down in the tunnels, but outside of Ezra, Sparrow was the only one that didn't leave her bored and irritated.
But then he dropped his hand and, if he was looking closely, he might've caught the ever so subtle look of disappointment that passed over her startlingly pale features. It came as quickly as it went, however, because then he was talking about fun things — things like hunger, which was something Emilie knew all too well. She was a greedy little beast, that one.
"Our kind of fun," she repeated with a little nod, moving just a touch closer to him. He still didn't smell like the tunnels. She thought she caught a whiff of something citrusy, but perhaps that was her imagination.
"Better if you're dead inside." That had been what he told her, and Emilie agreed wholeheartedly. Emilie Galloway, the real Emilie Galloway with the rambunctious laugh and the gentle nature, had died the night that those raiders broke into their makeshift shelter, taking what and who they wanted and then leaving them for dead. She died when she realized that the world was a horrid place that didn't deserve saving.
Emilie died, and something terrible and empty had been reborn.
"I like games," she told him, her version of an agreement. "I'll play with you, pájaro."