I let my mouth curve into the slowest, most infuriating smile I could manage. The kind that says I know exactly how much trouble I'm causing, and I'm enjoying every second of it.
"You asked for a lighter," I said, voice mild, almost gentle. "Not a torch."
Mira's jaw clenched so hard I could see the small muscle jump under her skin. "You absolute—"
She didn't finish the sentence. Instead, she lunged forward, snatched the torch out of my fingers with enough force that our knuckles bumped, and thumbed the switch.
A hard, blue-white beam stabbed into existence.
It carved a clean tunnel through the darkness, picking out every detail in cruel high-definition: the rough bark of the nearest tree, the faint steam still rising from the cooling ground where someone had pissed earlier, the delicate spiderweb of veins on the backs of Angela's knees as she shifted her weight.
