Re: [Yelling, maybe: Steve, Janus, Atticus]
"Implicated in what? Knowing you? Bit late for that," Janus said, smiling again. It drifted away as Atticus looked at him. He did, actually, agree with what the scholar said, and nodded. "We know you, and more than that. And they probably will all know that pretty soon. Even if they won't find out what, exactly, we are." He drew lines in the air back and forth between himself and Atticus.
Janus dropped his hand from his face, unwound one knee from another, and then straightened in his chair. They both asked the same question, and though he gave neither a sideways look, he tensed both shoulders without responding. He wavered in his decision back and forth, visible on his face, as he was trying to focus on the two other men in the room, but could not. He decided anyway.
The temperature of the room shot up about five degrees, so much that the humidity didn't have time to adjust and it felt abruptly desert-like near the table a second later. Motes of firelight drifted out of nothing and coalesced under his skin, particularly at the joints of his bones under visible cloth. The woman was there instead, a moment later. The set of her hips and pull of her ankles looked more natural now--at least to Steve. Atticus would see the same man, but his expression was not so distracted or pained. She sighed, and ran her fingers hard over her scalp. "Sorry."