"Caitlin doesn’t have security staff either. Her father has people in Paris, when she and Stets visit him, but they all have gray hair. The ones we notice, anyway." He put one of his feet down and dug in a pants pocket. "Speaking of phones, I took delivery of this one while you were sleeping." He leaned over to hand her a phone. "Not in your name." He passed her a black charger, its cable wound around it, and a pair of black earbuds. "Not okay to phone your mother on, or anyone else Cursion might know you know, but you’ve got the web, and it’s programmed to dial fresh burners of ours."