"We could make sure of that," he murmurs softly, chin resting atop the boy's head, like he's not at all implying murder. He is definitely implying murder. He runs his hands down the sides of Laszlo's arms before pulling away and wiping his face clean on his robes.

They're now wrapped stylishly around his neck like a cowl cape, draped behind him over one shoulder. Beneath them, he wears a black bodysuit that twinkles like stars in the night sky. You can't save the day if you ain't cute.

He tries the window, touching it and then deliberately running his hand over each of the nails to try to trigger a glow. He'd been careless in Chanel's memory, touching the record player and not the record. Now he's gonna be more thorough.