There is particulate in the bottom of the teacup; a few fine grains of tea that sit like punctuation marks on the bottom of the chipped porcelain. The tea itself is deep amber, a color not entirely dissimilar from the sodium lamps that had recently been the illumination for her failed execution. He takes a considering sip.

"Getting caught was stupid." The blunt rejoinder to her thanks. The tea is still bitter on his lips; he tastes the harsh sun in the sting of the dried leaves.