"I suppose I am," he agrees, voice a rumble under Iggy's hand. Nothing is holding Iggy's hand against his neck, exactly. Gansey's hand rests over Iggy's hand, tan fingers draped over pale ones. His breathing is slow and even, his pulse is rabbit-fast.

"It's a bit like strangeness and I played cat and mouse for years, and then one morning I woke up and realized that strangeness had moved in, stolen my favorite sweater and rearranged my bookshelves." Gansey smiles, bright and fond. Metaphors sometimes get away from him. The second hand on his watch is moving again. "The most interesting people in the world seem to be the ones who've been touched by strangeness."