He froze, mid-step, as her fingers snagged his belt. He could have pulled free. She was fast, maybe, but he was stronger, and a belt was hardly the strongest handhold in the world. But he froze instead, the only movement the rising wind that whipped at his hair and his jerkin. The tendons stood proud of his neck, every muscle in his body whiplash-tight. When he spoke, though, his voice cracked like a boy's.

"What the hell do you want?" It was meant to sound accusing. It didn't; it sounded desperate. "What the hell am I supposed to do? Break your jaw so I can feel worse and you can feel like you've done your duty? Fall down and cry?" He reached back to wrap his hand around her wrist. His fingers were like ice. "Like that'll bring them back? Just let me alone, will you? Just let me have time!" That was almost a sob.