“I’d like to be focused too, and that means knowing the risks of the job. You don’t think I’m going to end up paranoid? Obsessed? Distracted?” I’m halfway there already, she almost said, but shook her head and made herself pay attention to the climb. “No, you’re not the type. You’re a mastiff, not a neurotic lapdog.” Gyre snorted. “Fascinating comparison,” she muttered. She looked around for old anchors and found none, so she hauled herself up the stone one body length. “Climbing,” she added belatedly. “Climb on,” Em said. After a second, she added, “I meant it as a compliment.”
