“Is it—actual crawling? Or was there something more constructive Ilva had in mind?” Her throat closed. “I—I’d have to ask.” “Find out. I’ll do it.” He looked exhausted, but now there was an edge of something seething in him. “Are you really offering?” she asked, certain it was a trick. He gave no response. “Why are you offering?” Her voice rose, a note of hysteria in it. He looked up at her a moment. “I realised just now that I’d miscalculated something. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d made you marketable.”
