“Money,” said a voice from behind her. “Or, it used to be. Once upon a time.”

Sasha froze. Stiffened. She turned around, not sure what to expect but with an apology already spilling out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t–”

Something in the man’s smile, and the relaxed slump of his shoulders made her stop talking. He stood in the doorway of the little building, just a few feet in front of her. She had no idea how he could have climbed up and in there without her hearing him. She didn’t remember the man’s name, but she recognized him from the war council. Those writhing snake tattoos identified him as clearly as a nametag.

“I’m…” she trailed off. He smiled at her. There was something about his eyes that seemed off, wrong. She couldn’t place it. His pupils were somehow different than they should have been. When he spoke, though, his voice was warm and friendly.

“You are Sasha Marion. The girl who was brave enough to flee her home and family for the Heavenly Kingdom, and then brave enough to leave it when she realized what it truly was.” His head dipped down into a slight bow. “I’m Jim Shannon. It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Marion.”

Jim squatted down on his haunches and dropped his arms in between his legs. It was a casual motion, but he executed it with almost mechanical precision. There was something to his movements that spoke of terrible potential energy, kinetic force just waiting to be unleashed. Sasha found that almost as unsettling as the sight of his bare penis.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, because what else could she say?

Jim’s smile didn’t change, but his eyes did. His pupils contracted and then changed shape, from a circle to a spiraling rounded star.

“No, it’s not,” he said. “Let’s not lie to each other, eh Sasha? I’m weird. I move wrong. My eyes,” as he spoke his star-pupils started to spin in a hypnotic spiral, “are wrong. They don’t look human. I can hear your heart-beat elevate as we speak. I can smell cortisol in your brain and elevated levels of blood glucose. I can see in your eyes that me saying this has made you even more nervous.”

“Yes,” she admitted, “yes, you’re right. You scare me.”

“That’s perfectly normal, Miss Marion. It is not an act of weakness to admit fear. Quite the opposite. You feel better now, don’t you?”

She actually did. There was a queer sort of relief in admitting her fear and discomfort in this man-thing’s presence.

“I do feel better,” she said. “Why is that?”