"Hey. Talk to me."
"Not here."
We went down the stairs and out the inn's back door, into the narrow strip of cold between the building and the alley wall. Malachi followed without being asked.
I told them what I'd heard. Pearl's expression went through about four stages in five seconds, landing somewhere between disturbed and exhausted.
"Synchronized breathing... Synchronized laughter," she repeated. "Like they're puppets sharing one string."
"That's one way to say it."
"I have several other ways and none of them are polite."
Malachi leaned against the wall, arms folded, staring at the ground like it had information he needed. "It's escalating. Whatever she's doing, it's getting stronger. Or she's getting comfortable enough to stop hiding it."
"So what do we do?" Pearl asked.
