Kid. That almost makes him laugh, but he lost the sense of humor somewhere down the line, between the crack of bone under cement and the bang of two missed gunshots and someone who screamed and charged at him even though she should've just stood still and taken it.

Kid, she calls him. Her name isn't coming to him. Good thing she gives it right away.

He grits his teeth and doesn't look at her, reddened half-moons torn into the skin of his forearms where he gripped them too tight.

"Wasn't in the area," he says. His voice sounds atypically distant, but precise, controlled, sharp, even while his body trembles.