Ryke was at the window again. Same position as before the fight — same angle, same stillness.
Duke sat down next to Neva.
She looked at him. She had, he noticed, very good eyes — not in the obvious way, not striking immediately, but the kind that caught light and held it when you were paying attention. He had drawn them on the first page. He'd moved on to the second before he meant to.
"You went back out to check," she said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"Find anything?"
He thought about the note in his pocket.
"Nothing useful," he said.
She looked at him for a moment — the assessing look, the one that had been on her face in his sketch. She had a good eye herself, he thought. Not for art. For people.
"You're a bad liar," she said.
He considered this. "I'm a very good liar," he said. "I
