Ryke was already there. He picked up the thing the fifth wolf had left — a folded piece of paper, small, worn at the creases like it had been folded and unfolded many times — and opened it.
His expression did not change. It never changed. Duke had been reading Ryke's face for years and he could tell the difference between genuine nothing and something being contained, and this was something being contained.
Ryke folded the paper. Put it in his jacket.
Looked at Neva.
Duke looked at Neva too.
She had come three steps out of the doorway during the fight — without appearing to decide to, the way a person moves toward something instinctively before their brain catches up. She was looking at the four of them. Assessing. Her eyes moved from Ziko — who had a split lip and looked invigorated
