So spotlighted, Richard looks back at her, not with the wide-eyed haste of the freshly accused, but with the tight-at-the-corners patience of someone who is being teased while he’s trying to read.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen any that weren’t covered in blood,” he says, matter-of-fact, and taking down a longer swallow by way of dry punctuation. “Or mine.” He could look away, but eye contact is what she deserves.

“Is it undergarments all the way down, or is there a layer of throwing knives to keep things lively?"