"He is usually so consid--"

"Helly, I din't forget bein' there," Liya interrupted, giving nem a sideways look. "Photos ain't nothin'. And anyway, he did take 'em out. They were in an envelope with a note on the outside. I din't have ta look."

She sat down on the little star-spangled bed.

"I'm glad I did though," she continued, apparently trying to sound indifferent, or at least matter-of-fact. "Turns out, I know the guy who killed Hawk an' Em. He had a big ol' scar on his face--" here she sneered, indicating the left side of her mouth and nose, "--where I split it open with a rock when we were little. Dylan Buckman." She paused. "He used to beat up on Hawk, used to pull his feathers out. Em got in a fistfight with his dad over it, one time."

Helly stood gazing at her, nir hands sort of grown together. She didn't really look at nem--she looked at the floor.

"Y'know," she said almost casually, her brow wrinkling, and Helly began to pick nir way across to room towards her, "Last time I saw Mr. Buckman, I was nine. Right after the hurricane. He set dogs on me and' Hawk and chased us into a sinkhole," she explained to Helly, as ne carefully sat down beside her, arranging nir odd legs together. "An' then he threw grenades in at us. We were just waitin' in line for food an' ice. They were killin' monsters that needed help while the power was out."

She broke off, and Helly very gently put an arm around her shoulders. She allowed this, leaned her head on nir shoulder, but her voice when she spoke again was low, resentful, angry.

"I hope Mr. Buckman found Dylan's body," she muttered. "I hope he had to see that."