afford all the help he needed, but that meant having people around him and being nice. He didn’t have much use for people. And he wasn’t very nice.
“I can’t help Lucy,” he said. “I’ve forgotten half of what I knew.”
“You’re so full of shit, Redwing. You haven’t forgotten a goddamn thing.” Plato came and stood beside him. The warm, dry air, he said, helped the pain in his leg. And he liked the work. He was good at it. “Even if you’re rusty—which you aren’t—you still have your instincts. They’re a part of you.”
Then the violence was a part of him, too. Sebas-
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