Silas retakes the joint with his off hand; the circling continues at a slower pace while he shifts concentration to the smoke coiling warm in his lungs, his timeworn recollection of the Dream Rules. Slow on the exhale, he tokes again before answering:

“She would have to know where to look.”

Not ideal.

“And it can be precarious for her to travel alone.”

Even a very clever cat is just a cat.