“Will you let me help you?” the Grieve asked with exasperation. “Should I? Isobel owes the Thorburn a favor. What reason do you have to be spared?” “It’s my Castle.” “You’re still deadweight.” The Grieve let go of Alistair, and Alistair crumpled gracelessly in the dirt. “Crawl there, Lair.” “Fuck yourself, Castle.”
