Neal is having a hard time getting his thoughts in order. He can see that other place in his mind's eye, framing a beautiful man with a face that looks wrong when so serious. He lifts a hand to massage his forehead, only half-listening to his shepherd and the new stranger.

The lieutenant inclines his head in a gesture that is at least professionally respectful. He traces Neal with his eyes, something briefly hard and unreadable in them before he looks at Zerxus properly. "More out for a walk than doing a patrol. Everything all right?"

An angel, Neal thinks muzzily. He spoke to an angel about stopping something from happening. He finally looks up at the newcomer and there's... familiarity. Vague and formless, but present. This man is an enemy, Neal knows. He knows, and he doesn't know why. He feels like he has bits of glass buried in his brain.

"I didn't know you'd started playing escort to drunks."