Instead of an answer, I shut my keyhole and push his hands away from me. He staggers back with a sharp intake of a breath and I turn on my heels to glare at him.
It's easier to be angry with Zeke for getting into my personal space without permission again than to pay notice to the lingering weight of his palms on my shoulder. He's too intense, too focused on me, and my stupid brain is too affected by this.
The power Zeke sent through me feels to be half-stuck in the crack of my keyhole. It's a strange and uncomfortable feeling, as if I have something jammed in my esophagus. I open the keyhole a little again, and Zeke sucks in the rest of his tentacle.
I mechanically rub my chest with my left hand. It's bizarre how natural all this Lock stuff is to me. So much so, that it doesn't come to me to be shocked, or disbelieving… Or maybe the reason for my current calm is the amount of shock I've lived through recently.
