Transitions

I really am confused for a second. I'm so used to hiding my thoughts that I've forgotten what it it's like for someone else to know them. And maybe it was that thought, or Jason's murder finally hitting me, or lack of sleep, but suddenly, I can't hold back the emotion. I'm sitting there, face in my hands, when I feel the girl's arm around my shoulders.

"It's okay," she says. "This is the worst part."

"What is?" I ask, wetly.

"You know. The transition. Becoming who you are, in your head. Having others know who you are, and not being scared."

My god. She's right. I've just killed my partner. I could be one of the U.S. government's most-wanted people. The only reason I'm alive is because of this teenager I just met. And yet I'm drunk with this strange relief.

"Thanks for being here," I say. It comes out in bits, like an old machine, rusty from disuse.

"No prob," she says. "I know how good it is to have someone around. I remember when Claire told me--"

"What? Claire? Bennet?"

"Yeah?"

"Wow. She and I have history."

"I know."

• "You know a lot. I don't even know your name," I say...