Irina's face had gone bright red again.
No, not red — volcanic.
The moment she recalled what Scott had just done, steam practically puffed out of her ears. With an exaggerated grunt that came from the very depths of her being, she spun around dramatically as her pretty blue eyes narrowed at the rooftop of the building across from her.
"He must've run away!!"
She yelled, cheeks puffed and fists clenched in fury.
Without wasting another second, she summoned a spatial lift field around herself. As the warped air hum, she whooshed upward from the balcony, her body sailing gracefully — no, furiously — over to the rooftop.
The very moment her feet touched down, she stomped forward and pointed like a courtroom lawyer in a televised drama.
"AHAH! I knew you'd run away, you cowardly—"
She stopped. Mid-shout.
There he was.
Scott McQueen.
