He looked at me with a certain impatience, chin held high.
He glanced for a second at the Hattai, perhaps looking for his support. But Ishida, even if he wasn’t completely ignoring him, surely didn’t want to get involved, because he didn’t even look at him in response.
“The surgical wound is fine,” he retorted. “I wouldn’t have been able to fight otherwise.”
“I’m glad,” I mocked, and patted the chair back—imperative, and with little desire to argue about that too. “Sit. Come on, humor me.”
He didn’t like at all that I ended with one of his own moves. Obviously he didn’t like it.
But it was more diplomatic to be magnanimous and not contradict the homeowner, right? So he sat where I told him; although immediately he stretched an arm over the table so Sasha could grab his hand. She would
