Karl blinked.

“Excuse me?” “Your name,” she repeated, unhurried.

“And yours,” she added, glancing at Patrick.

Patrick swallowed hard, his hands trembling faintly as he adjusted his lapel, some animal instinct beginning to warn him that the ground had shifted.

Clara read their nametags.

Patrick Thorne.

And Karl Vance, an irony of shared surname that Clara noted with a cold and silent flicker of something almost like amusement.

“Karl Vance,” the agent muttered, still trying to hold onto his sneer.