Conroy watched Squire with a strong sense of love and frustration. They were opposites in so many ways; Conroy short and squat like a weight lifter, Squire tall and elegant like a nineteen-fifties movie star. Squire sat across the table dressed in mismatched clothing, sunflowers bobbing like slow-motion sparks behind him. One-Eye stood at Conroy’s shoulder. They needed no further protection; military-grade drones hovered with quiet determination. A screen showed grainy security-cam footage of Alice and Red talking. There was no audio, Alice’s escape having taken out One-Eye’s aerostat.