'That' was still barefoot, a little dusty, and leaning back against the Bentley with his hat shading his pale face. He managed to grin up at Fletcher, though, flicking up the brim and falling back into his drawl. "Takin' that as a compliment. Undercover ain't undercover if everyone who looks at us can scream 'angel'."

Particularly in this day and age. A while back, it would have been more likely, but now? No. The scepticism Gabriel had encountered said that, both here and in his own dimension, let alone the Institute's.

"Besides," he added, "I doubt you'd have drawn any less attention, Skul. Ms Marr's got it in for yah, and bad. Worse than Thurid." He shrugged. "Thurid just feels threatened, an' makes bad choices 'cos of it. Ms Marr's evil."

He said the last matter-of-factly, as if this was a perfectly normal distinction that anyone could draw, but with an edge of resignation. One more soul, lost.