"There was no mark of you on the earth," I say. Is he toying with me? But his face is too open, too stupidly human in its confusion. I feel my eyes narrow. "Management," I say, and my voice is very cold. "They hid you from me." That they dared to try is infuriating; that they could do it is even more so. My nostrils flare, and I reach out and press the palm of my hand against his chest. I can feel the promise threaded through him, even in this new body, that binds him to them. "I should break your contract. Why did you not ask me to?"