[When she looks away, the Darkling watches her more intently. The slope of her shoulders, the twitch of her fingers against the sleeve of her shirt. The way the strange light of the station glints off of her hair.

It is always like balancing on a knife's edge. How honest does he have to be, to earn her trust. How much of himself can he keep hidden, without a cost.]

I was out of line and I am very sorry that I lost- [control. His sense of self, sight of the mission because all he could see was the liquid gold of Alina's dress and the kissed-red bow of her lips.] that I took my frustration out on you. I was angry, but not at you and I am terribly sorry.