And once more, Stiles is drawn irresistibly into the story unraveled in the reading. Back and forth, his eyes dart between the spread and Kenzi. Even though this is an experience he hardly needs a third party to tell him about, there’s a tiny part of him hoping. For what, he doesn’t know. Maybe insight that doesn’t exist. Maybe possibilities that don’t either. Regardless, as the reading continues, the careful neutrality of his expression grows more and more frozen. Clearly, she’s hit the mark. The mention of a hidden influence seems to confuse him, however. Sitting back heavily in his seat, he mulls over what that could mean. There was no man of wealth…that he’s aware of. But one of note to him and his? His father…? Stiles doesn’t like the implication of that thought, and hurriedly dismisses it with a wave of his hand.

When she finishes, he exhales slowly. Well, that was a total mood killer.

“Sure,” he agrees wearily, shrugging. “Do they deliver around here, or do you wanna take a break and hit up a restaurant?”