Something in her tone made me look at her. Naomi's pink eyes held mine for a beat longer than normal, and the corner of her mouth pulled in a direction that I recognized as the Naomi Forecast: incoming weather, seek shelter.
Belle Fox appeared at the cafeteria entrance forty-five seconds later.
She wore the Obsidian uniform with her standard modifications. Blazer open. Yellow shirt with two buttons unfastened, showing a sliver of the black bralette she wore underneath. Skirt hemmed a full inch above regulation, which no faculty member bothered enforcing anymore because the battle had been lost weeks ago. Her light blue hair was down, falling past her shoulders in loose waves that caught the morning sun from the windows and turned translucent at the edges.
She looked good. She always looked good. Belle Fox had turned looking good into an applied science, a field she'd mastered before puberty and continued refining with the dedication other people gave to combat training.
