"It’s not the same." With his thumbnail, Tiger traced the initials someone had carved into the table. Anger pulsed through him, a ripple through his shoulders and arms that snapped out the razorclaws planted beneath his fingernails. He gouged more wood from the tabletop. then forced himself to relax and retract the claws. "Sorry. You’re not so wrong." Mike grabbed Tiger’s wrist and gave it a squeeze. "No offense meant. I envy you your roots here in Seattle. At least you have some family. I don’t know if my kin are alive or dead—and I don’t imagine as they know or care the same about me."