“Okay, so what’s next?” Byron asked, after he’d had a few bites.

“I’m not going to do this if you’re not going to try,” I warned him. Reverse psychology was indeed a thing.

“I’ll try. Promise.” He made a cross over his heart with the tip of his steak knife, and the irony of a KILLER waving a weapon around a major organ was not lost on me.

I pulled out the copy of All Quiet on the Western Front. It was the only vaguely soldier-y thing I owned, to see if Byron had a guilty conscience because he’d had to kill someone for the government. If that was the case, well, it was better than the alternative.

“Ooh,” he said, looking at the book and frowning. He took it from me, thumbing through its pages.

“Something? Yeah?” I asked with hope.

“Just a generalized anxiety that you’re better read than I am. Is that useful?” he asked, handing it back over. He read on my face that it wasn’t. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just tell me what you wanted to hear?”

“No. This is how the system works,” I said, tapping the book cover on the table. “It requires absolute honesty, otherwise I can’t guarantee my clientele accurate results.”

He nodded deeply, clearly humoring me. “What’s next, then?”

I bit my lip and pulled out my last card—the only half-colored print-out of goldfish in a bowl. He took it from me and appeared to study it, then looked at me with a smirk. “This one is telling me it’s a good thing this isn’t actually a date, because if it was, it’d easily be the weirdest one I’ve ever been on.”

“Byron,” I tsked, putting my hand out.

“Oh, no, I’m keeping this,” he said, folding the print out and tucking it away. “There’s no way anyone else is going to believe this story if I don’t have proof.”

I grit my teeth and pressed on. “Do the goldfish remind you of anything? Something…fragile? Or maybe a pet in your past?” Because I figured accidental pet deaths could count as killing, if you were emotional enough.

“I wasn’t allowed to have pets as a child. Sorry.”

“Because your uncle’s a thousand and two and a jerk?” I guessed.

He chuckled. “Something like that,” he said, before taking another bite of his dinner and then gesturing that I should do the same. I hadn’t even started yet, I’d been so keen on figuring him out. “Is it my turn to ask you questions?”

“Why?”

“Because I only want to be signed up with the best matchmaker in town. I went home and googled things last night—you know, you’ve got competition.”

I eyed him, knowing he was trying to get a rise out of me. “OKCupid doesn’t count.” But he’d been a good sport so far…for a murderer. “Fine. Ask.”

“Favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Hmm, common choice,” he said, like he was disappointed.

“Because I’m basic,” I said with a shrug.

“Somehow I doubt that—favorite band?”

I wildly tried to think back to who Chance had been wearing this morning, then realized I should keep prying. “The Bloodstains,” I said, looking him directly in the eye. He didn’t so much as flinch.

“Indie?”

“Quite.”

“Major?”

“Psychology.”

“You don’t say.” His tone was droll, as he gave me a smug look. There was a dimple on his left cheek that threatened to come out if he looked too pleased with himself. It made him cuter and it wasn’t fair.

“I’m becoming a psychologist because I want to help people, okay?” And because it seemed like the best possible way for me to do that, what with my power and all.

I started eating, then got irrationally cranky that the food tasted so good. I wanted to have a reason to stay angry.

Mostly.

“What’s your necklace about?” he asked next, when I was mid-bite.

I looked down at myself—it wasn’t showing, it was under my shirt. I didn’t want anyone grabbing onto it to stop me from running away, but I also never took it off if I could help it.

Byron noticed my confusion. “I saw it the other night,” he explained.

My hand reached up to touch the spot where it hung beneath my turtleneck. “It’s just a thing my mom gave me.”

“A little star?” he guessed, then corrected himself. “No—a little sun.”

“A sun. For sure.” I nodded.

And where was the line between the kind of guy that noticed things that mattered to you versus a guy that was creepily attentive? I knew if you asked some girls, there was no such thing. I very much believed in the line, but I couldn’t ding Byron just yet for a little curiosity.

“Where did you go to school?” I asked him—I knew he wasn’t much older than I was.

And just as he was about to answer me, another man walked up. He had a solid five’o’clock shadow and was wearing a suit jacket that didn’t quite fit.

I’d been ignoring the rest of the restaurants’ patrons’ words out of habit, to focus all my attention on Byron here, but there was no way not to read INFORMANT over the stranger’s head in hazy yellow letters as he paused to give Byron a nod.

“Dex, Elle. Elle, Dex,” Byron said, smoothly introducing me.

Dex gave me a quick smile, said, “Nice to meet you,” then turned back to Byron. “Plans changed, we’re going out earlier than we thought.”

Byron briefly frowned. “No one messaged me.”

“I just heard it myself—and Lucian told me you were here. I thought I might grab dinner with you. I didn’t know you had company.”

“No, if things changed, I’d better go get ready,” Byron said, with a disgruntled sigh. Dex gave him a suit-yourself shrug, tipped an imaginary cap at me, and walked off.

“Sorry about that,” Byron said, setting his napkin on the table. “My work doesn’t confine itself to normal business hours.”

“Wait—you’re leaving?” I asked.

“Yeah, unfortunately. Can I call you an Uber?” he said and grimaced. “Dinner with you was kind of last minute, I didn’t actually get the time off. I’m sorry about that.” He made eye-contact with our waitress who got the hint and started coming over as he pulled out a credit card. “You should stay and eat the cheesecake, though, it’s astounding. They’ll put it on my tab.”

I gawked at him. “I’m not going to sit here and eat dessert without you, Byron.”

“Why not? You could read your book,” he offered, his eyes glinting with amusement.

It was taking great mental and emotional strength not to lightly flip him off, and I could tell he sensed that.

Him and his stupid dimple.

“In any case, Sunshine, do you think you have someone for me?”

I shook my head and crossed my arms. “No. Testing is usually far more rigorous.”

“Too bad,” he said, taking the bill back from the waitress, tipping well, and quickly signing. Then he wrote something else down at the bottom, tore it off, and handed it to me. “Let me know if that changes,” he said, passing me his phone number.