Sy looks up. His cat jumps off his shoulder, and goes straight to fighting Clem's ankles. "For fucksakes, Decourt," he says, watching Killer beg for attention.

He hadn't been afraid. He doesn't know what to call this feeling, the uncertainty of where she was and what happened to her, and his own inability to stop thinking about it, even though thinking was useless. But it wasn't fear. He hadn't believed for a second that anything bad could happen to her.

Standing up, Sy crosses the space between them in two strides, and leans down to kiss her. "For your information," he murmurs against Clem's lips. "Not everything's about you."