Sneek Peek

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In the Dead of the Night excerpt:

He's just sitting there, staring, a rather void look on his face. Yet for once, his eyes don't seem to share that same vacancy that his face is. In fact, they seem rather content... or confused. Not sure which yet.

Hmm, awkwardly sitting on the mat of my living room floor across from an elite assassin from a Nazi terrorist espionage organisation who has a freaking metal arm and tried to kill me five years ago is not exactly how I thought my Sunday night would go. Something about him just sitting there, on the mat of my living room floor, peacefully leaning against my couch with that intimidating, pernicious weapon of mass destruction that is conveniently one of his limbs, just seems so... mundane. Like I can't take him seriously.

Maybe it's because that weapon of mass destruction is currently stroking and babying my cat, T'Challa, like he's an actual baby. That could be it.

Or it could be the comical SpongeBob bandaid stuck to his forehead which in turn is attached to that severe, brooding face.

Or both.

Probably both.

As a nervous twitch, my hand habitually adjusts the thick-rimmed, square glasses atop the bridge of my petite nose, coming to a rest back in my lap again after the anxious mannerism. "So..." I awkwardly break the silence, my uncertain voice shattering it like glass. "... you kill people."

He blinks, the metal limb not pausing in its petting of my kitty cat. "Yes."

My nose crinkles slightly in disapproval. "Speaking as someone who can talk to dead people and sympathise with them... that's not very nice."

This time, his petting does pause, but only momentarily as he scrambles for another quiet, monotonous response. "They weren't very nice people."

"Yeah, well, I don't like raisins in cookies. But you don't see me killing every raisin I come into contact with. That would be impractical."

For the first time, his face moves into an expression that isn't a blank canvas of emotion. I was beginning to think that his blank look was set in stone. Instead, a small frown tugs at his brows. "You're strange."

Wow, when an ex-assassin for a Nazi terrorist espionage organisation with a metal arm tells me I am strange, I should probably start re-evaluating my life choices.

"Thank you, I try. But back on the topic of killing people... you tried to kill me." He doesn't seem too put off by it, giving me the impression that yes, he does remember me from five years ago. Which, come to think of it, isn't too odd. Especially after I made one hell of a first impression.

His artificial fingers scratch T'Challa under his little chin, the feline emitting a satisfactory purr at the pampering. "Yes, I did."

Dark eyebrow arched expectantly, I softly prompt "And....?"

"You were strange then too."

Resisting the urge to smack my head against the coffee table to the right of us, I instead opt for a fairly dramatic facepalm.

This was going to be a long night.


Coming Soon

~ T.L

In the Dead of the Night || Winter SoldierWhere stories live. Discover now