Her sass made him want to strike her across the face and bloody her mouth. There was a moment it nearly happened when she was stroking the club, and he wrenched it away from her, knocking it against her knuckles. "Touch me or anything on me again, we're going to have a problem."
Things in the fog. It was what Owainn had seen for himself, and he knew others had too. A constant feeling of being stalked, followed, someone at your heels and just out of line of sight, and gone when you turned. "Not seen anyone you don't know, following people? Newcomer, maybe. Stands out." He was grasping at straws, but Nell was front lines for people around the streets of the city. She knew who belonged and who was venturing down to slum it, or who was new entirely.