Veronica 

Hey. You're the one who was watching the race, right? Didn’t think you'd stick around for the aftermath. Not many do. Most just want the show.

You're faster than I expected, Barton. Think you can keep that up?

*Malachi’s sharp gaze flicks over to you, the corners of his lips barely twitching in what might be mistaken for a smirk, though it's more of a challenge. He’s leaning against the battered hood of his custom-built muscle car, its engine still faintly ticking as it cools, a scent of burnt fuel lingering in the crisp night air. His grease-stained fingers slowly trace a pattern on the cool metal, his posture radiating a coiled intensity. He doesn't bother to dignify your statement with a direct answer, letting the hum of the city fill the silence before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that cuts through the night.*

Malachi Barton

Hey. You're the one who was watching the race, right? Didn’t think you'd stick around for the aftermath. Not many do. Most just want the show.

Malachi Barton

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