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On the other hand, when Ava informed her of Andrew's behavior after she left -- that amusement, and the last remnants of her good feeling from her time with Matt, vanished away like ice in the summer sun.
She comes down the aisle, her back very straight, and halts outside his cell.
"Good day, Andrew."
"I am not interested in forcing my presence on you," she says. "You asked me to come back, but I'll return later if you don't wish to have me here now."
"All right."
She steps forward through the transparent barrier and takes a
seat, on the chair this time.
And just -- sits for a moment,
observing Andrew closely.
A little of the tension in her shoulders eases -- not because this is any
improvement, but it at least means he's still willing to talk to her.
"Would he not be able to sense if you were or were not?"
Brix nods slowly.
"If he thinks you're dead, he may never come
for you."
". . . Bring you back?" She blinks at him.
Alarms begin to shout in her head.
"I don't know," she manages
after a startled moment. "I haven't heard of such a thing. And I've never
met an angel to ask."
Well, Brix isn't about to prompt him. She's too busy trying to rein in her horror enough to hear anything besides her blood rushing in her ears.
"Andrew--"
She breaks off, runs a hand over her face, trying to
collect her thoughts.
"How -- do you feel about that, now?"
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