21: Deva
Deva
“I’m not going,” Wrench said as they walked into the gallery. “You can’t make me.”
Deva sighed. “We’ve been through this.”
“And you don’t listen to me.”
“Could say the same back at you.”
His lower lip quivered, and Deva wasn’t sure if that was because she was leaning in so menacingly or because he was angry. She backed away, though. “Look,” she said. “We need to get over this. Find a booth and I’ll grab us a couple of drinks.”
She paced to the dispenser station before he could argue, looking back only when she was almost there. He’d chosen a booth and had thrown himself into a chair, staring morosely at the scenery. Sun glinted off the snow that framed the craggy side of the mountain.
“b****y baby,” Deva muttered as she reached the dispenser. She punched for a couple
