Chaos is wearing an expensive suit, and his hair is perfect. He’s not what she expected.
“You were thinking I’d have a beard, yeah?”
Everyone is frozen, halfway to where they were going. The station is unnervingly silent. There’s a gout of steam hanging like ice above one of the trains. She can hear his heels clicking on the platform.
“I’m not about getting rid of order,” says Chaos, half to himself. “It’s where the order fails, breaks down, corrupts, that’s the sweetest bit.”
They walk past a man whose briefcase has flown open. Papers hang like leaves.