"The questions should be not where, but *when*," Zeke says, his words clipped and his voice biting. "Physically, as I can discern, he didn't go far. But your hysterical state, my Maya, is not conducive to any investigation. I insist you calm down."
I gasp, aghast. "My hysterical state? Hysterical? You… You…" I clench my fists and huff.
Whatever I feel, it's far from hysteria. Anger, fury even—and hurt. *What wasp has bitten him?* I think bitterly, glaring at Zeke all the while. His face is an impenetrable mask of male superiority.
