Page 137 of The ARC Unit: Breach

“For asking questions in French?”

“You should encourage your analysts.”

“Raven seems encouraged enough for both of you.”

I laughed and settled back as he pulled away from the curb. The return drive felt different even though neither of us mentioned the conversation from earlier. I had expected embarrassment once we had to sit beside each other afterward, but it never quite arrived. Mostly, I was aware that I now knew what the word control meant when Wolf said it, and that he knew enough about me to make the webbing on his belt impossible to treat like ordinary equipment again.

We stopped outside Baden-Baden when the rain picked up, hard enough that the service station disappeared behind a gray curtain almost as soon as Wolf pulled beneath the overhang. We ran inside for coffee and he returned with a protein bar that looked like it had been designed by a group of dudes who put “macros” before flavor. I bought a honey bun covered in enough icing to make up for both of us.

Wolf looked at it as we quickly crossed the parking lot. “That’s food?”

“You bought compressed protein wrapped in plastic.”

“It has twenty grams.”

“Mine has icing.”

“Not a nutrient.”

“Neither is misery, but you seem committed to getting your daily amount.”

He opened the driver’s door without answering, which was about as much acknowledgment as most of my jokes received from him. We climbed back into the Mercedes and stayed parked while the rain beat against the roof and streamed across the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it. For once, Wolf seemed willing to wait rather than drive through weather bad enough to erase half the road.

My white shirt was soaked through enough to make me regret the color choice, though my hair had plastered itself across my chest and shoulders, hiding anything particularly indecent.

I tore a piece from my pastry and glanced over when I heard the wrapper of his protein bar open. Then I looked at his mask.

Wolf noticed almost immediately. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I was wondering how you planned to eat that.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “With my mouth.”

I gave him a look. “Helpful.”

“You asked a stupid question.”

“I asked a practical question.”

“You’ve been here long enough to know the difference,” he replied.

I went back to my honey bun before continuing the argument made it obvious that I was more interested in the answer than I wanted him to know. I had seen Wolf adjust the mask enough to smoke, but even then, he kept most of his face covered and I had never seen his full jaw.

Beside me, fabric shifted.

I looked over before I could stop myself. Wolf had hooked two fingers beneath the bottom of the mask and pulled it just far up enough to uncover his mouth and the front of his chin.

His nose remained hidden, along with most of his cheeks and the full shape of his face. Even sitting less than two feet away, I still only had pieces of him to work with: brown eyes beneath thick lashes, dark wavy hair and now, finally, his mouth.

His lips were fuller than I had expected, especially the lower one, with a defined curve through the upper lip that softened when his mouth relaxed. Dark stubble covered the exposed part of his jaw and disappeared beneath the fabric.

That was when I noticed the scar.

A thick, pale, slightly jagged shape cut along the left side of his chin, starting higher than the portion he had uncovered and becoming clearer as it reached toward the corner of his mouth before disappearing beneath the mask again. I had never seen it before. For all the time I had spent staring at him, trying to build a face out of whatever scraps he allowed me, there had been an entire large scar hidden underneath.