"We'd better," Scout mutters. She hates turncoats. All right, yes, this is because something reached out and took them and made them turn, just like at the Manor, but it still puts a knot in her gut. The nightmare at the Temple wasn't that long ago. She's pretty sure it will never feel like long ago.

Her dæmon shoves his blunt face against the side of her neck, breathing into her hair, not-so-incidentally touching his prominent teeth against her skin. It's good and bracing. She leans a little against him and goes on.

"Some of it. It doesn't really feel like... like what I already have, exactly, but it feels good. Empowering."