Boone stops his forward charge and stares at the trim next to his face, stares at the quivering switchblade now buried in it with the same foul blandness he directs at nearly everything else, and then turns to regard Charlie. "Get out."

"Uh." She darts her eyes towards the squawking radio in the doorway, and keeps them there. His beret and sunglasses are off, and being able to see his eyes for once is alarmingly disconcerting under the circumstances.

"Get out."