"God, how would they function without one? Who'd pull the statement? Absolutely nothing would get done," Olivia teases. The handshake is harmless, of course. There will be no rending or morphing of flesh today, even if his scars sing at her touch. Her fingers slot perfectly into the mark left by Jude, and she can taste the charred meat in her tongue, smell the sear of flesh on screaming hot wax. Her thumb brushes over the ridges as she pulls away, lapping up his hatred of how it looks. Not how it used to look. A reminder of failure. Poor Jon.

"So, what are you in for?"