“An empath, you idiot,” Summer shot back, leaning on her hands. “Did you not pay any attention the first time we met?”
Loki didn’t stop, jerking the door open without breaking stride.
“I will not hear such things from the mouth of a human.”
“You have changed.” Summer let her voice turn cutting, mocking. “Time was, you’d not run away from a mere mortal, a human. From mere words. You want me to fear you, yet you’re the one fleeing!”
Loki’s laugh was the only thing she heard, even as the door banged shut behind him.
Several days later, Summer hesitated, then tapped firmly on Loki’s door. She’d wrangled with herself for most of those days, in between dreaming in code and setting things, virtual and actual, on fire, and finally concluded that regardless of anything else, she owed him an apology.
The fact that said apology consisted mostly of supplies for Macrowafter was utterly irrelevant.
Heart pounding, trying to look suitably contrite, she waited.