In the dark, the snowflakes looked like stars, flying towards them and over the windshield. Blast found it hypnotic.
Behind him, Sparkleboy drummed his fingers on the window. “Boring!”
“Shut up, Sparkly.” Cannon sounded like he was trying to sleep. Glancing over his shoulder, Blast saw the mercenary’s metallic body sprawled across the middle seat. He had one arm draped across his eyes — which was weird, Blast thought, because eyelids like his should easily block out the light from passing cars.
Perhaps old habits die hard.
“Anyone want to play catch?” A glow started to form in Sparkleboy’s right hand.
“Put it away, Sparkleboy.” Ellison’s stern look in the rear view mirror matched his tone. Sparkleboy responded with a comic grimace, like he was being shushed by a sour old librarian. The glow dissipated, though, with just a hint of electric crackle.
Beside Sparkleboy in the back seat, Knockout reach out to tap Cannon on the forearm. Once. Twice. Three times. “Cannon.”
“Next time we stop, we’re switching seats.”