Eleonore’s POV
I watched with scrutiny in my eyes as the man rubbed his face with his hands.
If I were kinder, and not still reeling from the fact that he tried to kill me, maybe I would have felt sorry for the man for how tired he seemed to look. Michael, that was the name he had given me, looked to be in his mid-thirties, but I couldn’t really tell. His face was smooth besides the dark half-circles beneath his eyes and the wrinkles on his forehead, and when he spoke there was a twang of an accent I couldn’t properly place.
I noticed all of these things in the conversation the two of us have been having for the past hour, and I felt my hand begin to start cramping as I threw another piece of paper at him with an answer to yet another one of his questions. Perhaps it wasn’t the brightest idea for me to be divulging as much information as I was to this man, but he had said he was a demon hunter and he seemed to have a rather sharp affinity for lies and the truth.