<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Ava watched as the Hunter feigned offense, pretending to be wounded by her assumption that he was--indeed-- displeased with how the events of the evening played out. She needed no further confirmation than the undertones of sarcasm beneath false smiles and silly gestures. Though his claims of <i>water under the bridge</i> were amusing, she did wonder why he would deny that he was still angry or disappointed . . . Whatever he was feeling, rather than the veneer warmth he projected. But, she was almost certain that she would hurt herself trying to understand him. He doubled down on the pleasantry, maintaining that it was still a pleasure to make her acquaintance. He even averted his eyes as she began to remove her jumpsuit, even though there was nothing to see except for a more defined silhouette. Wes Marquez was a very <i>peculiar</i> man, and while she was tempted to read into every little tick and nuance she knew she would only confuse herself. <br/>
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Her thoughts returning to the subject at hand, she listened while he thoughtfully responded to her question. She expected him to get complicated, suggest a lobster dinner or a five star dining experience at the Ritz, but he didn’t seem too picky. <br/>
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“The Coffee House. I know of it.” She nodded, watching as he eased off the tree and extended an arm for her bag. Ava was hesitant to allow him to carry it. There wasn’t much in it that would be gravely missed. There were two more clips with silver bullets, her gun of course, clothes, fake IDs, and some cash. If he ran off with it the worst that could happen would be that she’d be stranded for a little while, be forced to call a lifeline to come to her rescue. She was weighing whether it was worth the embarrassment, worth having to lie and make up some elaborate story. For a moment her hand tightened on the strap that rested against her shoulder, visibly reluctant to let it go. But, her hold loosened. In a gesture of trust, and a little bit of what felt like recklessness, she allowed him to carry it. <br/>
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“A liar <i>and</i> a gentleman. Odd mix,” she smirked, gesturing for him to lead the way. They were back to trekking through the woods. The journey to his vehicle was further from the shifter den, and even further from the location where she had stashed her things. Ava prepared her thoughts so she was silent along the way, occasionally distracted by the movement of nocturnal critters or the swamp waters sloshing in the distance. Though they were far from the threat of supernaturals, she did sometimes worry about natural dangers. She was grateful when they arrived at the large mound, camouflaged in brush. The tarp was removed to reveal an old Toyota, a black truck that suited the Hunter as much as everything else about him did. It was discrete and not too flashy.<br/>
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She hopped in and they made the short trip to the Coffee House. So late, there were hardly any other patrons. They were able to seat themselves where they pleased, and a hot pot of coffee soon arrived not long after they were settled into their chairs. Ava helped herself, wasting no time to get it into a cup or ask the questions that had been brewing in her mind like a storm.<br/>
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“So this Coven leader, what’s his name? How long has he been around?”</span>