The apple in her hands is forgotten, held so tightly her nails dig into it as she listens - as she feels his answer, like the pounding of rain on her skin. There’s a brief catch to her breath when he looks at her with more than eyes, the hairs on her arms lifting with goosebumps.

The urge to know. The voracious, ever-hungry beast…

Oh, she feels that part deeper than her ribs. Deeper than danger can reach.

When the pressure blinks away, it leaves a little sting behind. Disappointment. Or yearning.

She makes herself take a second to answer, holding back her first instinct this time, and taking a bite of her apple.

“Do you know about Speakers, Mister Sims?”