The look Atticus fixes on Wren is cold, but absent the hostility he'd reserved for Benedict; she may have left his throat bruised and his face bloody, but, as insulting as it was to have a Templar manhandle him like some soporati street thug, she did not do it at her own behest. The effects of his student's spell are slowly, gradually wearing off of her, and he is forced to acknowledge that for all Benedict's foibles... well, his spell did its job.

He glances from the key ring that Wren thrusts through the bars to Simon, waiting expectantly.