Shadow Touched (Editing)

48. FINCH

"It is not a heist."

"Yes. It is."

"No. It's not."

"Finch."

"Naima."

"Gah!" Naima lets out a cry of frustration. We've been arguing like this for nearly an hour. She's been badgering me since we left the morgue, going on about needing to plan more thoroughly how to get the journals from Solditch.

"You're a real stubborn bastard, you know that?" She growls at me. She's following alongside me or attempting to. Though I'm walking at a regular pace, the size difference between us means for every step I take, Naima must take two. I can't lie; I could easily take shorter steps or slow my steps, but causing her any inconvenience brings me great joy.

I look down to see her glaring up at me. Her full lips purse as she scowls. "Do you really think insulting me will make me agree with you?"

"Of course not. I just can't help myself," She says matter-of-factly. "We need contingencies, Finch. We need plans upon plans. Heists are never as simple as you think they'll be. We have to account for the unaccountable."

"That doesn't even make sense," I say to her, my voice even. I've learned that the calmer I remain when Naima is in a state, the more riled she gets. Needling her is incredibly easy. "Besides, this is not a heist."

"Finch!" She grabs at my arm, stopping me. Her hand is soft and warm on my arm. The feel of it along the muscle of my forearm makes me flex inadvertently. She stomps her foot on the ground, her frustration boiling over. I frown at her.

"Did you just thump your foot at me like an angry little bunny?"

"Little bunny? I am a vicious, urimu-wielding felon. One flick of my wrist, and I could twist your big, dumb head off your big, dumb body!"

"Of course, you can...Bunny." I say, patting her softly on the head.

"If you ever pet me like that again, I will ensure you never fuck again." Her voice is sickeningly sweet as she flicks my hand from her head.

"Heard. Bunny." I give her a brilliant smile before continuing on my way. I'm trying to get back to my rooms. What should have only taken about thirty minutes has turned into sixty by virtue of this ongoing fight with Naima.

I make it to the end of the hallway before I realize she's stopped following me. She's also stopped arguing or speaking. Despite my better judgment, I turn back, concern for my balls at the top of my mind.

She's standing where I left her, still wearing Grey's coat from earlier. It drowns her. The too-long sleeves engulf her small hands. She looks so young. It hits me then. She is young. She's only 22. 22, and alone in the world. I can't imagine how that must feel.

She's not even looking at me anymore. She's staring off into nowhere. Lost in thought. I turn away. Naima is not my problem.

I grab the door handle that will take me to my rooms, but I can't bring myself to step through. Every time I blink, I see a flash of her standing there.

I sigh.

I'm back down the hall in a few steps, standing before her.

"Naima," I say her name softly. My hand itches to reach out to her but I stop it. I don't understand where this empathy is coming from. I despise Naima. I suppose these last few days have opened my eyes to one thing about her I can respect—when she loves someone, she loves them with all she has. Her loyalty to Grey is admirable, though I worry what will happen to her if he can't be saved.