[ The ungentle magnetization of the ego tugs through her mind's eye. It's very feline, that certainty: I, predator, am worthy of your respect. Your admiration. Killing things is good work and I'm good at it. Death moves around him like a slow dark cloud. Vulture circling a big cat, waiting for a taste of his prey.

Roza wonders if he thinks that this is her; if so, she makes no move to dispute it. ]

I think all that's true, but: [ she says this settling her little card down, leaving Danny's picture face-up, ] I don't have a lot of shame, [ that's a complicated half-truth, right there, ] and I think you might not always like what I want. You'd have to dig really hard to find things I won't admit to. I think you have a lot of practice at that, though, don't you? Sticking your hands in people and opening them up for you.

But you win! It's Danny. [ The vocal inflection on 'Danny' has intimacy in it. His is a name she can't say normally, or casually. ]

I surrender. [ Hands up in submission, open palms framing her face. ]