[Eiffel yanks his hand back quickly at the flinch; but it's the look Elias gives him - cold, so above him and so uncaring that he can't help remembering Cutter (losing patience with him across the prison desk, staring down from his Faerie throne as he tries to back drunkenly out of his Deal), and his spine folds like wet tissue.]
no subject
I-- uh, yeah. O-of course, mister Bouchard.