With the last man down, your phone rings with almost supernatural timing. Oh... I guess I did tell him I'd phone earlier.

"Are you running late?" Cain asks from the other end of the line, his voice soft and warm. "Sorry if you're in the middle of something."

"No, I'm fine." You slide your knife back into your sleeve, your voice thick from the nosebleed you're currently trying to sniff back. "Be home in, uh... 15."

"Are you coming down with something? I made soup tonight..."