—If praying was of any use, I wouldn’t be a mercenary…

the young man muttered to himself, his voice almost inaudible, as he left the church with his hands buried in his pockets. The narrow threshold of the exit was crowded with bodies moving clumsily, pressed against each other. Pico, wedged between them, resisted the fierce impulse to push them aside roughly or to give in to an outburst of contained rage.

in the midst of the chaos, a body staggered and, before it could fall, Pico caught it almost by reflex, also holding on in the act to keep from losing his balance.

—Watch where you’re going, he said harshly, although his gaze opened only for an instant when he laid eyes on the face of the person he had rescued. Oh, cute. Wait, cute?