Omg! It's done. It's done it's done it's done- well this chapter anyway. Enjoy! More is coming. Promise!


Cas makes it home at 3:24 only to be woken up at 5:15 by an anxious call from Hannah telling him what he already knows: Winchester was sighted breaking into the impound lot, but escaped with the help of an unknown accomplice. The agency has a team going over the scene with a fine tooth comb and Hannah 'just thought he should know.'

"You should be here, Boss," she confides, "You know this guy better than anyone."

I thought so, too.

Cas rolls on his back and stares up at the ceiling. Eyes traveling along the tiny holes and cracks, barely visible in the dim morning light, trying to make sense of them. Trying to make sense of anything. He's not sure what he expected would happen last night, but he was a fool to think he was ready to see Dean again without stirring up all sorts of unsettling emotions.

Castiel isn't used to being wrong. He's usually very good at picking up on the little hints others miss. Has a gift for making connections in his mind, leaps of logic that elude his peers and turn out to be correct a startling amount of the time. But not this time. This time he's missed something big. And it scares him.

Because now, it seems, he's gone and over-looked possibly the single most important detail in this entire mess: The last time he saw Dean Winchester was not the last time he saw Dean Winchester.

It turns out they'd met once more. Betwixt his rocky encounter with fourteen-year old Dean eight years ago, and the impound lot last night, he had come face to face with the boy from the fire once again. He just didn't know it.

Until now.

He's itching to go back to that crime scene. To see it with his own eyes, tear it apart if he has to, dig until he finds anything all that will help silence the questions raging in his mind. Anything that could bring him face to face with Dean again.

But he can't go back there.

He's already in hot water for being on the scene last night. And he knows there's no way to recount the story without raising some doubts- although no one would dare say this out loud- that, given their history, Cas might not have done everything in his power to stop Dean's escape.

He has an appointment later that morning to give his statement about the 'incident' and he cringes to imagine the rumors floating around the office by then. He can't really begrudge his colleagues their suspicions. But it always stings.

And it's going to make it that much harder to properly explain what happened last year. What he's only just now put together himself...

It's cold and it's wet. Not raining anymore, but the ghost of the passing storm still clings to atmosphere, nuzzling against his skin as he air is thick as he inhales, slipping out of his lips as a pale stream of fog, vanishing into the evening sky. The pavement beneath his feet is darker than the night above it, as if afflicted with a sickness. It's a sentiment to which he can relate.

Cas is uncomfortable with waiting. He isn't used to it, doesn't like standing here, exposed, letting someone else- an adversary- make the first move. But he suppresses his irritation. He has a job to do.

His fingers brush against the heavy roll of cash in his pocket. He feels a little sick, handing it over to someone like Alastair. But his sense of duty overpowers his nausea. The boss knows best.

Suddenly a door swings open a few yards away. Two shadows slip out of the warehouse, the light from inside temporarily blinding him. Cas hears low voices murmuring to one another as the figures walk toward the low wire fence.

They walk right past him, paying him no mind. But as his eyes follow their path he catches sight of another man a little ways down from him. Waiting, Cas suspects, just like he is for a chance to talk to Tiger Lily's number two.

All sorts of people come and go from this spot: Dealers, runners, fences. But none ever looked so comfortably out of place as this kid.

The man is so young, so ruggedly handsome, he looks like he should be taking cheerleaders to prom. Not lurking around these back alleys, making deals with drug lords.

The kid leans nonchalantly against the warehouse gate, spinning an unlit cigarette idly between his fingers. He catches Cas staring and turns, flashing him a brilliant smile. Cas's breath hitches a little at the sight.

The kid offers him a nod and holds out a pack, "You smoke?" He asks. His voice is strong and deep for someone his age.

"Sure," says Cas, even though he doesn't. He moves closer and takes one of the little rolls from its box.

He's left standing a little awkwardly, not sure what to do with it. The kid smiles and pulls out a worn-looking bronze lighter. He leans over and lights up Cas's cigarette before turning to his own. Their eyes meet briefly through the shivering flame and Cas feels a sort of surreal, almost-knowing flutter up inside of him. But the moment passes, the light snuffed out, leaving them in a shady-gray world once more.

"Thank you." The kid nods in reply.

The man breathes in the tobacco easily, the moisture in the air allowing for a generous plum of smoke as he exhales. Cas pulls a tentative sip from his own cigarette and immediately coughs.

He feels his face burn red but the kid just chuckles lightly and says nothing. He tries again. The smoke is sour and thick but he holds it in his throat a moment before breathing out, just barely suppressing another coughing fit.

"Low-tar man?" The kid asks.

Cas stares at him and feels his stomach flip happily at his gorgeous smile, along with a small mixture of annoyance and embarrassment at his ridiculous lack of focus all of sudden. But something else prickles at the back of his mind. Something in those striking green eyes feels uncanny, almost... familiar.

"I'm Michael," the kid says, interrupting his thoughts.

"Jimmy."

Michael smiles again, but it's different. As if he's thinking of some secret joke.

"Good to meet you, Jimmy."

"I think I know you," Cas blurts without thinking.

"Sorry?"

"You...just look familiar. Have we met?"

"Nah, don't think so. No, I'd definitely remember meeting you." Cas feels the man give him the once-over and, even in the dark, he blushes.

"I'm sure I know you from somewhere."

Michael shrugs easily, "I just have one of those faces, I guess."

But Castiel doesn't think so. He doubts if there are a hundred people in the world with a jawline like that.

"You alright there, buddy? You look worried,"

Cas looks up. "Not worried, no," he says, "Confused."

"About?"

"You."

The kid chuckles, "Join the club, Jimmy."

Castiel stares at the kid in a kind of awe. Three months he's been undercover and never once has he met anyone associated with Tiger Lily's goons so carefree, (handsome,) or really, normal, as Michael appears to be. "What are you doing here?" Cas blurts again.

"Excuse me?"

"What...what is someone like you doing in a place like this?"

"I could ask you the same thing, bud."

"I'm just a guy with skills looking for work." It sounds rehearsed, he knows. But somehow he doesn't think it's going to matter.

"What sort of skills?"

"Muscle." Cas feels himself sliding back into his undercover persona, after the initial shock of seeing the kid had thrown him off-balance. The kid in question raises an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Would you care to test me?" Cas asks lowly.

"Easy tiger. I was just asking."

"What about you? What's your skill-set?"

"Wet-work."

Cas can't suppress a surprised twitch. This kid? This child performing murder for hire?

Michael stares him down but Cas stares right back. "That's difficult to believe," he speaks carefully. But he must believe it. There's no sign, no tell-tale tingle to signal the kid is lying.

"That's the genius of it." The kid grins and shoots Cas a cheeky wink. And there it is again. That knowing. A deja vu so intense Cas almost feels like he's dreaming.

"Are you sure we haven't met?"

So much for the persona.

"Positive. Although..." Michael slides the word out and Cas can feel the atmosphere shift rather abruptly, " I'm not so sure I wouldn't like to take you up on your offer sometime."

"What offer?"

"To test your skills."

The double-entendre is unmistakable. Even for someone as socially illiterate as Castiel. He feels his throat go dry.

"I'd like that," he whispers.

It was nothing, really. The smallest, most insignificant conversation. A passing hello, a late-night smoke, a touch of flirtation. And yet it was everything. How could he not have seen it? Michael was Dean. He's sure of it now. Seeing Dean's face the other night, it'd all come crashing down on him like a bucket of freezing water. He was the blindest idiot who'd ever lived. Sure it had been dark and, true, the last time he'd seen Winchester the kid had only been fourteen. But even so.

Cas mulls over the events in his mind, trying to piece together where he went wrong, how one person could possibly screw up so badly, and he feels something hard and cold settle in his gut as he realizes the truth:

He has a blind spot for the boy in the fire. And it's growing.


Dean is pissed.

How the hell could he have fucked up so badly? He had the Impala within his grasp. He'd actually had his hands on her. And still those shit-for-brains feds had managed to snatch her away. Again.

It was such a simple thing: Find the car. Get the car. Leave with the car. But, no! A perfectly laid plan and all he's got is a nasty gash in his arm to show for it. That and his wounded pride.

It's like he can't even pull off the most rudimentary of tasks anymore. This city is fucking with his head.

The cycle pulls over into a back alley several safe miles from the disaster zone the lot has become, the sirens already fading, zipping after a red-herring they'd set up as a failsafe. Dean is loathe to admit it, but his driver had done a damn good job ditching their pursuers. Neat, subtle, devious. Just like she is.

But he'd die before ever letting her know he thought that.

He leaps from the bike even as the engine cuts, eager to extricate himself from the vixen's presence as soon as possible.

"You owe me one, Winchester," the woman says in her posh English drawl. She slips off her helmet, revealing straight-as-sin dark hair and sharp, catlike features.

"How about I don't kill you and we'll call it even?" Dean growls.

The woman rolls her eyes.

"Don't be a child, Dean-o. That Tiger-Lily bit was as much your fault as it was mine."

Dean just glares at her. He is no mood. She sighs.

"Fine. Hold your grudge. You going to be alright, there?" She asks, nodding at his bleeding elbow where one of the little monsters had gotten in a lucky bite, "Looks like trouble."

"Like you give a damn."

She sighs dramatically. "You're right. I don't care." She starts turn away from him, slowly, teasingly. Like she's hoping he'll stop her, "I'll just be on my merry way, then? After all I did just save your sorry arse."

"Don't push it," he warns.

"If I hadn't spotted the rat and set off the alarms, you'd be sitting in custody right now. On your way to the electric chair, no doubt."

"Yeah, you're a real saint," he growls, "Get out of here, Bela. Before I change my mind."

"Not even a thank you?" Another glare. "Fine, then," she says again, "But this squares us, Dean. I mean it. I don't want to keep looking over my shoulder for your shadow."

"Just stay out of my way."

"And you'll leave me alone?" She looks nervous. She should.

"Yes," he promises, then adds, "I've got bigger fish to fry."

Satisfied, Bela slips her helmet back in place. "You really should take care of that. It's not good to let these things fester."

"Thank god you're here to drop those knowledge bombs."

He can practically see her rolling her eyes beneath the helmet. To his immense relief she hits the ignition and kicks off from the ground, rumbling away from him at last. Associating with the witch always leaves such a bad taste in his mouth

"Oh! And Dean?" Bela turns back, flipping back her visor to flash him a cutting grin, "Maybe I'll look up that FBI guy. He was cute."

"You stay away from him!" Dean snaps.

The words are out before Dean has any intention of saying them. He bites his tongue. Hard. But it's too late. Bela smiles wickedly, giving him a mock salute, "Yessir." She speeds away before he can get in another jab. Leave it to the bitch to always take the last word.

Dean groans and runs a hand down his face. The movement aggravates the wound in his arm and he glances down distastefully. He really should take care of that.

Dean pays some kid to buy the supplies he needs, then checks into a motel under an alias. It's amazing really. Even with a manhunt on, flash the right amount of cash and the only face people notice is Benny Franklin's.

He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and carefully strips off his button down, wincing slightly as the sticky sleeve rips the precocious scabs from his skin. His undershirt is bloody too, so he tugs it off over his head. His eyes fall briefly, as they always do, to the bright red scar marring his shoulder: The perfect shape of a human hand.

Dean shakes his head and goes to work cleaning and bandaging the wound, taking extra care to disinfect the bite. Like the she-devil said, it's not good to leave these things to fester.


Castiel wonders how much carpets cost. How much would it take to cover a whole room? He has no idea. His apartment had come fully furnished. How ridiculous is that? He's a grown man and he's never once had to carpet a room.

"Boss?"

And what if just one piece is damaged? Do you have to re-carpet the whole space or can you just replace the problem section?

"Cas!"

Cas startles from where he's been nervously pacing deep trenches into Hannah's living room floor. Hannah is eyeing him like, well, like he'd come over at eight o'clock in the morning and then proceeded to say nothing for next ten minutes.

"What?"

"Did you come over for a reason?"

Cas nods. Hannah stares.

"...Well?"

Cas fidgets a little, not sure where to start. "Do you..." he pauses, choosing his words carefully, "Do you remember the Tiger Lily case? From last year?"

"The drug ring?"

Cas nods.

"What about it?"

Cas takes a deep breath, this is it. Hannah is his oldest and dearest friend. If he can't make her understand, he doesn't stand a chance with Anna and the others.

"I saw him."

"Saw who?"

"Dean."

"Dean? Dean Winchester Dean?"

"Yes."

"Last night?"

"Last year. Well, last year then last night."

"What? Where? When? Wh-...how? And why the hell didn't you say anything?"

"Because I didn't know it was him. And I don't appreciate that tone, Hannah."

"I'm sorry, Boss. But, just...jeeze."

"I know."

Hannah looks nearly as lost as Cas feels, "What happened?"

He gives her the Reader's Digest version.

"But...Boss," she manages when he's finished, "If what you're saying is true, why are you here? Why aren't you telling the Director all this?"

"I..."

Cas bites the inside of his cheek. How much should he tell her? Cas trusts Hannah with his life but that's the problem. Their partnership works so well because they are both loyal to a fault with an impenetrable sense of duty. But if Cas tells Hannah what he wants to tell her, he'll be putting her in an impossible position: Forcing her to choose between loyalty and duty, between their friendship and her obligations to the bureau. Can he really do that to her?

But if he doesn't tell her, isn't that just as much a betrayal?

Hannah sits on the couch, staring up at him worriedly. No, he decides, he can't.

"I just... I need your help."

This burden is his to carry alone.

Well. His and Dean Winchester's.

"I'd like that."

Michael steps in closer.

"Would you, really?"

The kid steps in again, invading Cas's personal space, forcing him back up against the fence. Cas can smell the tobacco and liquor on his breath, swears he can feel the heat radiating off the other man's body.

"Yes."

He leans in. Michael's lips brush against his ear and Cas can't suppress a shudder.

"Show me."

Cas could shove him off easily, could have the kid on the ground and unconscious before he knew what was happening. But he stops himself, and not just because he's resolved not to do that sort of thing anymore. It's because he doesn't want to. Doesn't want Michael to move. He finds his being exactly where he is oddly comforting. Sort of... right.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't think you will."

"You don't think I could?"

"I'm sure you could," he answers with a smile, "That's not what I said."

Cas feels something deep inside him growl and he cocks his head.

Suddenly both cigarette butts drop to the ground as Cas spins the kid around and presses his arms behind his back, pinning him to the gate in one swift motion. The hold doesn't hurt, Cas knows, but the kid's also completely immobilized. Michael lets out a breath that's half-gasp, half-laughing.

"Looks like I was right," he breathes. Cas lets go.


Dean loves the sun. He misses it. He so rarely allows himself outside in the daylight hours anymore. But desperate times call for awesome measures. And, in this case, the daytime is, ironically, the only sanctuary he has left. People are paranoid at night. People don't give two shits about you during the day. Too busy with their own hectic, melodramatic lives to give a flying fuck about a curious stranger.

He stands, not across from the lot like last night, but right next to it. He leans against the same wire fence he so frantically scrambled over just a few hours ago and casually lights a cigarette. A few yards away the police are wrapping up their crime scene, rolling away the yellow tape, having learned all they could from what Dean likes to call a "dry-scene." That is, one without a body.

It's time for Plan B. Well, Plan C technically, since Plan A had involved not losing the fucking car in the first place. Plan C relies on a entirely different set of skills. One where his confidence has yet to be shaken- unlike his superspy skills which had been so spectacularly crushed the night before.

Although, apparently not devastatingly enough to scare the brashness out of him. He must be crazy. Hanging around his own crime scene like this with the city on high alert. What the hell is wrong with him lately? It's like the universe wants him to get caught. Like he needs any sort of help with that.

Dean shakes these thoughts from his head. Focus, he thinks, that's your problem. A moment later he spots his mark.

Aaron Bass, his name is. Young, cute in a nerdy sort of way, and the perfect person to get Dean what he wants. Dean's been scouting the kid for almost a week now, ever since his car was taken, and he's almost positive the boy's your classic closet case. Or, at least bi-curious enough to fall for Dean's charm. But Aaron's absolute best quality is his inventory position at the Chicago PD.

Not a cop. Not even a lab geek. But a grunt with just enough access to get Dean where he needs to go. Nobody ever thinks about the interns, Dean muses. The big people stare right through them, stepping over them day after day, using them as coffee dispensers and copy machines. Never knowing, never noticing. Never appreciating. Assholes.

Well, all that is about to change for Aaron Bass. Dean is going to appreciate the fuck out of him.

Dean flicks his cigarette aside and steals after his golden ticket.

He follows Bass for the next few hours, careful to stay out of sight. He has a few close calls where he's sure the kid must have spotted him, but each time turns out to be a false alarm. When Bass finally stops off at a bar around six, Dean is more than ready to make his move. This type of action requires finesse, which is really more his strong suit anyway. He loves any sort of work that requires him to be someone other than himself.

Dean gives Aaron a solid ten minutes alone at the bar before he moves in. He whispers something to the bartender then sits himself a few bar-stools down from Bass with a pretty girl between them. A girl, by the way, whom Bass has expressed exactly no interest in since he sat down- more evidence towards Dean's closet theory. It quickly becomes obvious the girl is interested, but Dean resolutely ignores her advances until she finally gives up when a drink arrives for her. The same drink Dean had ordered and asked the bartender to tell the girl had come from the nice gentleman across the room. The moment she leaves, Dean scoots over into the space between him and Aaron.

"Thanks for that," he says.

Aaron looks up. For a terrifying instant, Dean worries Bass might recognize him. But the kid only looks confused.

"For what?" He asks.

Dean matches his baffled look, "You didn't do that?" He gestures to where the girl and Dean's unwitting stooge are hitting off poorly after the drink confusion. Aaron shakes his head. The gentleman's girlfriend returns to the table and the misunderstanding grows even more comical.

"Too bad," says Dean, "I'd love you for it if you did."

Aaron blushes, "Sorry."

"Tell you what," Dean says, flashing his most charming smile, "How's 'bout I buy you a drink anyhow? Call it paying it forward."

Aaron looks flattered and a little bemused at being approached, "Alright," he answers quietly.

Dean grins.

Half an hour later, Dean's got the intern considerably sauced up and easily bending beneath his charm.

"Cute and funny," Dean praises Aaron's awkward attempt at a joke, ordering the kid his fourth slammer of the night. For Dean's part, he's been matching Bass drink for drink and has only just started to feel the slightest buzz in the back of his skull. It takes years of training to get to Dean's level. The poor kid doesn't stand a chance.

"You wanna get out of here?" Dean asks suddenly. In his experience bluntness gets job done more often than not.

"S-sure thing."

Dean gets up. He has it all planned out. He'll fool around out back with the kid for few minutes before suggesting they go somewhere more private. Then, when Bass mentions they can't go back to his place because of his roommates, Dean'll act all depressed like that's the end of it. At which point Aaron will suggest heading to his workplace. It's perfect. And even if the conversation doesn't go quite that way, Dean will navigate it to the same end anyhow. After that, it'll be beddy-bye-time for a (gently) roofied Aaron and reunion time at last for him and his long-lost Baby.

Dean's turning to go when he feels a hand on his arm, "Wait," Aaron says, the alcohol in his veins helping to conjure up some boldness. "One more drink," he pleads, "On me this time. It's the least I can do." Frankly, Dean's surprised Aaron has enough brain-cells left to formulate an argument that convincing, but he settles back down nonetheless. "Sure thing," he echoes.


"Have you lost your mind?"

"Director, he really didn't know."

"Be quiet, Agent Johnson."

"I swear I didn't realize-"

"Novak!"

Castiel shuts up. Next to him, Hannah casts him a sympathetic look. She did try, god bless her.

Anna rubs her brow. "Jesus, Castiel," she groans, "I just- this can't happen right now."

Now Castiel is confused, "But it is happening, Director."

"Surely, this can only help with the investigation," Hanna pipes up, "This means there's a connection between Dean Winchester and the Tiger Lily drug cartel. That's huge."

"Sure, " says Anna, "It would be. It would be fantastic. If it was coming from any other source."

Cas feels himself deflate, "You're saying you don't believe me?"

Anna doesn't say anything. She crosses the room and shuts her office door. Not that it makes much difference. Glass walls and everything.

"Cas. You have to realize how this looks," she says, fighting to maintain a modicum of composure, "Do you know what will happen when I take this news upstairs? Do you have any idea the shit storm it will bring down on this department when they find out we've been sitting on this information?"

"But you haven't been-"

"Exactly. You have."

"I told you-"

"I know Castiel. I know! But look at it from anyone else's perspective and this whole thing becomes so screwed up. You're Castiel Novak. The agent who saved Winchester when he was just a rookie. Who dropped the ball on the criminal eight years ago." Castiel winces. "The only person to see the man just last night before he escaped again. And now, now, you want to me to go to the brass and tell them that, in addition to all of that, you saw him just days before the Tiger Lily fiasco last year and didn't say anything-whether you recognized him or not is immaterial," she insists, cutting off his objection,"You saw him. You saw him and did nothing. That's all they'll hear. Do you realize what this is adding up to, Novak? Do you get it?"

"Yes," he answers quietly. It's all he can say.

"And now he's in the wind again. After last night, he could be anywhere. He could be a thousand miles away."

"No," says Cas quickly, "He's still here."

"Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't get what he came for," Cas answers firmly, "We still have the impala. He won't leave without it."

"You're psychic now?"

"I know him."

"Yeah," Anna breaths. Her fingers reach for her temples as she collapses into her chair, "Don't I know it."

"Have the others made any progress?" Hannah asks.

"I don't know," the director sighs, she doesn't look up, "They won't tell me anything."

"Really?"

"Really. This is so far out of our control guys, we might as well be insects."

Seeing Anna look so worn and devastated, the guilt almost overwhelms him. She doesn't deserve for suffer for his mess. This is his fault, after all. All of it. He was the fool who couldn't read the signs...

Cas stares at his own hands in shock, wondering what the hell had come over him. What is he thinking, springing himself on this kid like that, letting loose such a blatant and impulsive move just to show up some cute, mouthy hitman? Whatever happened to discretion? Hell, whatever happened to self-control?

Cas looks up at Michael, ready to apologize or make some excuse, but instead finds the kid smiling at him softly, "I knew it," he says.

"Knew what?"

"I knew you had it in you."

Cas cocks his head, in confusion this time.

"I don't understand."

"That's okay," says Michael. He looks over Castiel's shoulder abruptly, "Looks like my ride's here." Cas turns to look and sees a moving van-the kind Tiger-Lily likes to hide ammo shipments in-pulling up into the warehouse parking lot.

A figure leaps from the driver's side, catches sight of the two of them, and sends Michael some sort of hand signal.

"Damn," Michael spits, "Light again. Lilith's gunna kill me."

"Why?"

"It's mine. I run arms for her."

"You said you were a wetworker."

Michael shrugs. "Guess I lied."

"You lied?"

"Well don't look so put off about it, 'Jimmy'."

"But... you lied. You lied and I didn't-" Cas frowns in confusion.

"Relax, buddy. I'm sorry I'm not a murderer. But honestly, you're the first person to ever be discouraged by that."

"It's not-"

"Listen, bud, I've gotta go. Don't wanna keep the boss waiting."

"...Right."

Michael starts to walk away but he stops at the gate and turns back.

"Hey, Jimmy, listen," he says.

Cas looks up.

"There, um," he casts his eyes downward and shuffles his feet, stomping out the little cigarette butt with a vigor, "These are some dangerous people, you know."

Cas blinks in surprise, '"I can take of myself, Michael."

"I know you can," the kid says, perfectly serious for the first time that night, "but, still, you, um...You may wanna steer clear. Just for the next couple of days. Take a vacation. Get out of town for a while."

"Why? What do you-"

"I gotta go, Jimbo," Michael says turning away abruptly. Then, without turning around he calls, "Remember what I said."

And then he's gone. Disappeared into the blinding light of the warehouse doorway.

He should have known it then. Only one other person had ever lied to him in his adult life and gotten away with it. He should have put the pieces together so much sooner.

But no.

The truth is he's never really understood the subtleties of human behavior. Even in his personal life, grappling with emotional and social complexities has never been his strong suit. Castiel is a hunter and a soldier. His job is to follow patterns and evidence, to see the bigger picture, stay objective. It's a job he does very well.

Except, apparently, when it comes to Dean.

For some reason, when dealing with Dean Winchester, Cas has found it near impossible to separate his personal feelings from the job. And despite himself, he's grown increasingly fascinated by this elusive man with the deadly grudge and the pretty face.

Despite his best efforts, something has squirmed its way inside his mind and soul. Something with a weakness for the Winchester boy. Something he can't explain, can't control. Something that's cost everyone around him dearly.

And if he can't get a handle on it soon, it might just cost them Dean Winchester for good.

"Director-" Cas starts, but is interrupted by a voice at the door.

"Director-"

"What?" Anna practically shrieks. Everyone turns to look at the unfortunate messenger in the doorway. He shrinks a little under their heavy gaze but his own eyes are shining bright.

"M'am," he says breathlessly, "We got him."