The con used to be all the company Peter needed: the mark, the lie, the payoff-easier than breathing, but now, lying in bed next to his newest mark-the one who has the gall to wander around wearing Olivia’s face, her clothes (but not her walk, not her laugh, not her)-Peter’s alone again, and it’s harder than it was before, before he let Olivia drag him back, tie him to Walter, and immerse him in a world he hadn’t even imagined existed right under the thin tissue of so-called reality.
He understands with absolute hard cut sharpness that he’s alone in this now, and it’s hard, harder than it used to be, but doesn’t let himself care or be slowed down by it (he can’t)-he’ll do anything in his power to bring Olivia back, to rebuild that web he’d forgotten to resent sometime when he wasn’t paying attention; he’s a con man, and for her, he can be that again (he will be).
Next to him, the mark stirs, and Peter smiles his wolf’s smile and thinks, let the games begin.
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He understands with absolute hard cut sharpness that he’s alone in this now, and it’s hard, harder than it used to be, but doesn’t let himself care or be slowed down by it (he can’t)-he’ll do anything in his power to bring Olivia back, to rebuild that web he’d forgotten to resent sometime when he wasn’t paying attention; he’s a con man, and for her, he can be that again (he will be).
Next to him, the mark stirs, and Peter smiles his wolf’s smile and thinks, let the games begin.
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