The contracts are vile, [ he wastes no time admitting it, really leaning forward this time, wanting to catch Tris's eye and hold it, ] but I've been educated to the consequences for going without one for too long.

[ gray spreads his hands flat on the table between them, palms down. his fingertips don't quite touch the chair where tris hangs so precariously, but they seem to... reach.

the bond between them whispers darkly, and though it's been kept secret this whole time, it still exists, still pushes and pulls along a stream. tris's discomfort is palpable as he leans this way and that; it's not playful body language so much as evasive. gray knows the cards the young man thinks he's playing close to the vest, as well as if they were burnt behind his own eyelids. ]

Have you been in danger here? Be honest with me, Tris.