Now is not the time to argue. That it's not living that's wicked, or that no one can rightly punish Masud if no one knows, or that none of it excuses the rest of the life Darras has chosen to live, the other crimes he's chosen to commit. That giving them a chance to swim for it in the middle of the ocean isn't much of a mercy. Conversations they've had before and will have again, no doubt, since she can't seem to keep away for good.

None of that's useful right now to accomplishing the present goals, which are to calm Darras down, find out the truth, and see if the vividly disturbing reenactments of his past might be made to fuck off. There will be time for the rest after.

For now, she wriggles one hand out of his grip, but only to put her arm around him, the thick weave of her sweater brushing the back of his neck where her hand settles on his nape beneath his hair. "Tell me a story about your friends, when you worked together on the Aliss. What were they like?"