“Cuffs on all verbs," Alvarez said again, and Morrow's laugh died ugly in his throat.
The uniform on Alvarez's left snapped steel around Morrow's wrists. The one on the right toed something from under the bed—a narrow black stick with two prongs.
“Taser," he said.
“Cute," Alvarez muttered. “Bag it."
Rosalind sagged into the chair like posture had quit on her. She stared at the taser as if it had embarrassed her by existing. “He brought that," she said, too quickly. “I didn't—"
“Save the choreography," Alvarez said mildly, eyes on her like a man checking a fuse. “We're past casting. We're at tape."
Alexander stepped in only as far as the threshold, a wall choosing his spot. “Hazel?"
“I'm vertical," Hazel said. “Mad at myself. That's the symptom list."
“Noted," Alvarez said, glancing
