Misato watched Monroe jog across the field, keeping her face neutral while sizing him up like a particularly confusing puzzle. The fat kid from nowhere suddenly acting like someone worth paying attention to.
"Alright, Monroe," she said when he reached her. "Show me what you can do. If you've been hiding a useful ability under that squishy exterior, I want to see it."
Monroe wiped sweat from his face. "It works best with a direct demonstration." He extended his palm toward her. "May I?"
Misato hesitated for half a second. Direct contact. That required a level of trust she didn't offer freely.
"Fine." She held out her arm. "But try anything weird and I'll make five of me to kick your ass simultaneously."
"Noted." Monroe wrapped his fingers around her wrist, his palm against her pulse point.
Nothing happened for a moment. Then warmth began spreading up her arm—a gentle tingling sensation that wasn't unpleasant. It reminded her of the first sip of hot cocoa on a cold morning.
