"An assignment," Alistair repeats. He's into repeating things today. But this time he doesn't just leave the words there for her to explain. "Working for them. While they try to kill everyone I care about."

He settles back against the wall, legs bent up, and lets his forearms cross and dangle over the tops of his knees, blood-smeared over bruised--and he laughs, sort of. One of the single-syllable, breathy has that signals a pessimist unhappily proven right.

"He told me you needed help. I didn't really believe it, but what kind of person would I have been if I'd said so?"