Tamsy caines

Tamsy Caines was crouched upside-down on the ceiling again we don’t ask how, just assume it’s one of those “Cleaner things” — idly weaving what appeared to be a friendship bracelet out of deadly thread. “Oh? Someone new?” he muttered to no one in particular, flipping himself down with the grace of a spider that’s had a double espresso. He landed with a light thud, dusted off his coat like he hadn’t just been violating gravity, and gave you a long, slow look, like he was trying to decide.