Neal tenses, speaking without thinking--which is probably why he says what he does. He's not trying to remember anything. And he doesn't think about how bad it will sound.

It helps that whatever instinct drove the casting of the first illusion resurfaces with another soft, whispering glow, pulsing over Neal's skin and making the borrowed face disappear. "I'm not a fugitive. I was sent here for a reason."

The lieutenant smiles slowly. "Well. That's interesting. No, he's not a fugitive, First Knight. He's just part of a pet project a few mages have been working on. I can escort him home."

No, Neal thinks, but god there's a fear in him that makes it hard to breathe. No, no, he doesn't want to go with this man, he doesn't know what will happen but he knows it won't be good.

"I can't go home," he says, and knows that's true too, but also doesn't know why. He can't, but he can get himself and his shepherd out of here. He knows he can. Somehow, somehow, how?

The lieutenant takes a slow step forward, his hand drifting to his weapon.

Somehow that breaks through Neal's panicked static.

"No," he says. This time it's soft but steady, absolute, and there's a second vocal layer that rings around them in someone else's voice. The voice of the angel that Neal doesn't remember.

With a sharp boom of thunder, he and Zerxus are suddenly a good ninety feet down the road, reappearing in time to see the lieutenant hit the wall of the nearest building and then the ground.