She moved to the next man. Nathan Grayson was younger, 26, though she wouldn't know that until later. He had dark hair and a beard that had grown wild during the two days, and he was the quietest of the four, watching everything with careful dark eyes. He didn't speak while she worked on his chains. But when his hands came free, he looked at them for a long moment like he was relearning something basic, and then he looked up at her and said, "My grandmother used to say the Lord sends help in the shapes we least expect."
Evelyn made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh, but was close enough. "Your grandmother sounds like a smart woman." "She was," Nathan said. "She died 2 years ago." "I'm sorry."
"She would have liked you." Evelyn moved to the last man. Derek Morrison was the largest of the four wide across the shoulders in a way that suggested his body had been built by work rather than vanity. He'd said nothing since her return had watched with the contained weariness of someone who'd learned that offers of help rarely came without a price. His chains were the heaviest.
The locks were older, more rusted, and it took Evelyn four attempts at different angles before she found purchase. "You can ask," he said finally while she was working. "Ask what?" "Whatever you're trying not to ask." He watched her face.
"People always have something they want to know. Usually it's whether we're dangerous, or why we live the way we do, or whether the stories they have heard are true." Evelyn kept cutting. "That's their question, not mine." He was quiet for a moment.
"What's your question, then?" She looked up at him briefly. "What do you take in your coffee?" He blinked. "What?