“I hope so.” He looks past Malcolm at the painted city, worry pinching the expression between his eyebrows. “I hope I don’t… end up with someone violent enough that they’re hard to handle.”

He clears his throat and shakes his head. That isn’t why they’re here. It’s not why Malcolm is here anyway. “What… advice do you want about this? Pros and cons, ‘if it was me,’ something else?”