Well, they gotta have somethin' that helps 'em sleep at night. Ours usually use religion. Religion and more money than a small country.

[ Or they did, anyway. One of the shiniest silver linings of Captain Trips was that it couldn't be influenced with money or power. You were either one of the immune or you weren't, and no amount of wealth could change that. The great equalizer at last.

She watches him sit on the sofa, an enormous thing in emerald green velvet, designed to be so overly plush that it sinks under any weight. He still seems so tired. It's not that she expected him to exactly bounce back from actual torture, but she thought that getting back out of Thorne would give him more relief.

The tiny dragon huffs another minuscule plume of flame at her, and she taps it on the nose with one finger before she crosses to where he is. She wants to ask if he's really okay, but she knows he's not and she knows he'll say he is anyway, so she doesn't bother. Instead, she lets the cushion sink further under her knee on one side of him as she leans down, wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. ]