Arcady and Inspector Kincaide stared each other down, like two stray tomcats individually deciding yet not deciding whether now was the time to claw the enemy’s eyes out.
Zene wondered what the equivalent of a bucket of water would be.
“It’d help us both if you’d lay all your cards on the table,” said Kincaide, sitting forward over her mug of coffee. “I’m offering you an information exchange. I know the concept of sharing is foreign to an Arcady, but you seem… more reasonable.”
“Is it not rather early to call, Inspector?” replied Arcady, leaning back and steepling his fingers. “We’ve barely started, and I find it difficult to believe that even you lack enough clues to be going on at this point.”
Kincaide growled. “God help you, Arcady, you’re more annoying than your father.”
“I hardly believe that. My father is the veritable spokesperson for Difficult Bastard.”
