Their elbows pressed awkwardly together, cramped side by side in the narrow seat, and he could smell the other man's body, the unpleasant tang of stale sweat. Coby looked nervous, but that was hardly surprising. His teacher and his fellow student were both dead - believing someone was out to get him didn't seem like paranoia. Still, Morgan thought there was more to it. There was something unnerving about Coby's pale brown eyes. There was an absence in them that Morgan couldn't name but thought he might have seen in his own reflection. Coby sensed him looking and turned to catch his eye. "I'm not asking you to trust me, you know." Morgan shrugged, unwilling to have this conversation in public. Ten minutes later, the bus dropped them off at the same stop he'd first caught it from. He stood at the shelter and scanned the streets, then turned to Coby. "You were watching me here." "I knew I needed your help," Coby said, walking away. After a few paces, he turned down a narrow, cobbled street.
