Looking at him, all the anger comes rushing back. It keeps her quiet while she observes his stance, the way he's braced so protectively against—

What? Nothing, surely. Nothing can or will touch him now. And they won't be caught unawares again. But the idea that someone cunningly, deliberately orchestrated these events and the price they'd nearly paid for it, weighs heavily on her. Julius could have died. And what would have happened to Marcus if Tsenka hadn't been able to reach him?

"Wrists first," she decides, prompting. Not touching, just waiting. Letting Marcus offer them to her on his own.