“Stay close to me,” the marine said. “And shut it.” I swallowed, and Sir Stuart turned back to the front. “You don’t have to be a dick about it,” I muttered. Very quietly. It bothered me that he was right. Without Sir Stuart’s intervention, I’d have been dead again already. That’s right—you heard me: dead again already. I mean, come on. How screwed up is your life (after-or otherwise) when you find yourself needing phrases like that?
