She laughed, a little painfully. “You are unbelievable, Isaac Lahey. Unbelievable.” One thumb rubbed against her wrist, over and over, sliding over the faded, pale scars that could only be seen in just the right light. Marks left from the days right after her ability had awoken, shocked into terrible life by the events of 9/11. “Now you understand why I trust you so easily.”
“That’s not always a bad thing,” he retorted with a faint little smile and he tilted his head to the side, gazing at her with both intrigue and awe, eager to learn about this new side of her. “Because you can see into my head and read my moods and stuff? Do you feel it when I’m happy and sad and everything?”
“I can.” It seemed important to stress that she didn’t, all the time. “Mostly I don’t. It’s … like being in a crowded room. I can hear all the conversations going on around me, and I can choose to pay attention to one speaker, or to tune it all out, or put in earplugs — but I can’t choose not to hear anything at all. And most people, if I touch them, I’m going to hear it whether I want to or not.” She wasn’t looking at him, fiercely focused on finding the right words. “You’re taking this really well.”