The Fray

Chapter 3

"Like I have repeatedly informed you, young lady, there were no signs of a break in," the officer heaved with an extra long sigh added to the end just to make sure that I was a hundred percent aware of the fact that he didn't give a shit.

As if I hadn't copped on once he gave up taking notes and started doodling swirls all over the page instead. He wasn't even trying to be crafty about it! His oh so magnificent, precious art was proudly displayed on the Hobbit's sized desk we currently shared.

The officer was probably in his early forties, evident from his greying hair and permanent frown lines. He looked human. After spending so much time with a flawless immortal, it was a rather comforting sight. The man appeared mundane in every sense of the word. He even had the moustache that I used a comb to represent as a child. Who am I kidding, I still do that.

It wasn't until the officer had gone abruptly still and raised a questioning eyebrow that I realised I had let out a scoff. My cheeks flamed with embarrassment. He simply rolled his dull, lifeless eyes and went back to his 'masterpiece'.

I tapped my fingers impatiently on the wooden table, eager for my release. Ian's house wasn't far from the station; a five minute walk to be precise. Maybe he'll let me crash there until my parents get back and if he doesn't, well, I'm staying there anyway. The officer's report must have been incorrect. It had to be.

They might have tried to have been more accurate if there wasn't for all the recent ploys for attention made by senseless teenage girls, desperate for the presence of their Guardians. I'd be glad if I only had to see Agathon once every car crash, shooting and whatnot. Now that would be the dream.

"I can always sense when you're thinking of me. It's a lot, by the way, like a disturbing amount of times in a day."

My body froze; heart kicking up, desperate to escape this horrible upcoming situation. Moustache, as he will here on be known, didn't react to the intruder's voice in the least. Not even a fleeting glance or a meagre twitch.

No, not this again. Anything but this.

Ignore him, it's okay you do it all the time. I huffed out, relaxing my stiff shoulders so that I could lean back casually in the chair. It squeaked in surprise but not loud enough to arouse curiosity in Moustache. Hopefully he'll remain just as intrigued by the doings of his own hand to not detect my sudden change of behaviour.

I doubt even without the distraction he would. This guy clearly labelled me a lunatic the second I started talking about last night's events. Apparently, strangers breaking in to have a little get-together in your own home doesn't count as a crime anymore. If I had mentioned a pinch of drugs then the idiots couldn't possibly resist tearing the place apart for clues. That's the world in a nutshell right there.

I looked around the room, frantically searching for something to keep my mind occupied. He's not here, he's not here, he's not here but he is and you need to do something about it? Do you want a repeat of your first date catastrophe, Iva?

Agathon strolled around to the officer's side. With each step, the mischief grew brighter in his eyes; the silver coming to life with anticipation as we locked gazes. No luminous white wings insight, both retracted, making him appear like any other normal guy in a leather jacket.

"Ew, he resembles that creepy, perverted hobo from the bridge!" Agathon laughed; giddy like a child up to no good. "Hey, you know the way you always say I never do anything good, well I'm about to right now."

He eyed the man's scraggly puff of mousy brown hair, a plan keen on being put into action. I tried shaking my head to make my opposition obvious but without earning the attention of the officer.