"What about the Living?" he asked. He was mindful of the omission, and now was hardly the time to be careless. He glanced around, his eyes flicking back and forth despite himself. (Didn't he know how weak that looked?) He searched for shadows in the trees.

"What I'm saying, R," he said, tasting the name like a precious metal (like ammunition), "is that I don't want one of your friends showing up and startling us." He flexed his hands, feeling the blood stick to his palm and then give. Stick and give. Stick and give.

"I don't enjoy surprises. You see."