Aeon ran the flesh of her lower lip between her upper and lower teeth, and she spun the ring on her finger absently. She really didn't like Dexter sitting in her chair, in her apartment, like she'd invited him in.
Her eyebrow rose, and her smile changed. Now it was meaner. Now it was the face Trevor Goodchild was used to. "You owe me a window. And some new skin on my neck," Aeon said, glowering. "Why should I help you? And don't hand me that murderer on the loose bullshit, because we both know the other one could probably take out whoever we're dealing with."