It helps that she laughs. He rallies, and takes the scarf with a murmur of thanks. It helps him get the worst of it off his face and hands while she waits patient beside him.

"Lot of good it did them," he says, which seems a bit too bleak, but he can't help it. Thinking is like trying to find his footing on sand, and this is a rare solid patch. "That's what brought the angels down on them, right?"

He's not sure if it's meant to be complaint or commiseration or what, just that he's getting sick of this gnawing headache. He rubs at his eyes again, blows out a sigh.

"There's a hotel?"