[ Sharon feels him there in the connection, as close as he's ever been, the edge of his presence softened just enough to dull its usual bite. And then, just as quickly, he slips away again, putting distance between them like it's something required, something he has to do. She doesn't want that, even if she lets it happen.
A taste of her own medicine, he says, and Sharon can't help the faint curve of her smile—thin, fleeting, almost ghostlike as it flickers through the psychic link. There's nothing she wants more. It's what she's done for decades: giving people back exactly what they've handed her, letting them feel it in full. And with Sleep? She'd go to nearly any length to make that happen. ]
All right. [ The thought brushes after him. ] How about tomorrow, then?
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A taste of her own medicine, he says, and Sharon can't help the faint curve of her smile—thin, fleeting, almost ghostlike as it flickers through the psychic link. There's nothing she wants more. It's what she's done for decades: giving people back exactly what they've handed her, letting them feel it in full. And with Sleep? She'd go to nearly any length to make that happen. ]
All right. [ The thought brushes after him. ] How about tomorrow, then?