He is slow to unwind himself at the edge of the bed, to shift toward standing, and indeed is only just rising as Kirigan makes his suggestion. Something sharpens in Ralston's face. Narrows, so that the flashing heat of temper fires only in his dark eyes rather than being writ broad through either his slanting brow or mouth.

Click. Leaning on the cane, Ralston straightens fully—or as near to it as he ever bothers with.

"Then the next time you go, I'll follow you down." Simple. Bristling. He didn't care to remain seated there at the foot of the bed like a faithful pet anyway.