The magic in the air rolls over his skin like an electric current, almost makes him feel like there's hot blood coursing beneath his skin again, and he freezes in place for a moment before he turns to face her, having just unloaded the last armful of cargo. He exhales slowly, grimacing. He knows anger when he sees it, smells it, and he knows damn well that a handful of months isn't enough for anyone to forget what Angelus had done. He would never have expected that.

"No," he says firmly, prepared to correct her. "Angel. There's no Angelus here anymore."

Not dead and gone, because it would never be that final, but locked away and under careful watch.