" Cordy,” Uncle Mort interjected, “helpful things. Please.”
“Sure, yeah,” Cordy said, still staring at her honeybunch’s biceps. “What do you want to know?”
“You can see into all the windows, right? What’s going on?”
“Well, ever since that alarm went off, everyone’s been going schizoid. The place is swarming with guards—all looking for you, I assume?”
They nodded.
“Well done. I think so far you’ve thrown them, but . . .” She looked up. “They’re all over the place, especially the next few floors.”
“Residential.” Uncle Mort nodded. “That’s where they’ll be thickest. What about near the top, in Executive?”
Cordy shrugged. “I don’t know—the windows are blocked to us for the uppermost twenty floors or so. Sorry.”
“Damn, she’s good.” The sparkle in his eye left little doubt that he was talking about Skyla. When Lex looked offended, he crossed his arms. “Hey, if we were defending this building instead of attacking it, you’d be very impressed right now.”
Cordy pointed at him and gave Lex a questioning look.
“Uncle Mort has a girlfriend,” Lex explained.
“Whaa?” Cordy said.
“Don’t even ask. It’s beyond our powers of human comprehension.”
“Gross!”
“They even have a weird pool table euphemism for the dirty stuff.”
“Super gross!”
“Here’s an idea, Cordy,” Uncle Mort said, his irritation barely contained. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and keep a lookout for us?”
Cordy pouted. “Fine.” She leaned in to Lex and pointed back at her uncle. “I want to hear more about the lovefest later.”
“You really don’t. "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)