Melissa pulled her chair forward another few inches, the wooden legs scraping softly against the polished floor. She sat back down with deliberate poise and crossed her legs. The black heel dangled loosely off her toe, swaying in small, absent movements—the unconscious rhythm of someone settling in for more than a minute.
[Telepathy blocked. Misdirection engaged.]
Did you just start that, or has it been running the whole session?
The system stayed silent. That silence was answer enough.
"Why is everything in your head about sex?" Melissa asked, her voice calm, almost conversational, as if she were commenting on the weather.
I met her gaze, keeping my face neutral even as my pulse kicked up a notch. "Excuse me?"
