Something in his face changes at that. Not much. Enough.
I push away from the table. “What are you bad at?”
His expression shuts again.
“That question has no relevance.”
“Which is why I like it.”
“I am bad at several things.”
“Name one.”
“I decline.”
I grin. “You answered the aquarium question faster.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Can you cook?”
“I can cook.”
“Dance?”
“Well enough.”
“Draw?”
“You are surrounded by my design sketches.”
“Those are diagrams. Can you draw a horse?”
“I could produce a recognizable horse.”
“That is an extremely suspicious answer.”
Ash folds his arms. I study him.
“Can you whistle?”
His silence changes. I stare.
“Ash.”
“I cannot.”
A laugh bursts out before I can stop it.
His eyes harden. “This conversation is finished.”
“You cannot whistle.”
“I said I cannot.”
“The Voice of Crimson Night can design psychological torture from scratch and cannot whistle.”
“It has never presented an operational problem.”