[ with barely restrained impatience, Caleb watches Quentin approach. The moment the notebook's within reach, he reaches out with his left hand and snatches it away. Then, true to his word—even though he hasn't promised a thing—he does put down the Redeemer, lowering it so the spear points at the ground instead of at Quentin. But he doesn't sling it across his back again, and his grip doesn't loosen. His finger stays a hairsbreadth away from the trigger. Neither his stare nor his voice softens in the least. ]
Me. [ Instant, earnest, and wholly unbelievable--particularly to a man who's seen through more deft liars before. His jaw works, teeth scrape inside his lower lip. ] You want me to bring the notes I tried to make? They look like shit.
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