"It does not matter either way," Sidor said, moving towards Conner. "It is not her."
All the calculations fell into place, like ashes on the water. Yes, there was something he had been missing, and that was simply it. No one reacted with such calm when faced with someone they had torpored. Fear was natural. Rage was natural. A great spread of emotions, or even cold composure, would be natural. But to ignore the person, as if they had never met them... well, there was only one logical conclusion.
That this woman had never really encountered Josephine Powell, beyond perhaps a chance glimpse. That this woman ergo, was innocent.
The house of cards fell, and his composure froze as he focused on memories. Yes, Dirge had been negligant- because she had been living within a Necropolis. That fit. That made sense. Of course, if an individual had moved away from the surface and made the choice not to emerge, then yes, yes they would be negligant. What had his bait caught?
No matter. A second attacker who fit a similar profile. That was not impossible. Unlikely, but not impossible. A Mekhet, perhaps, or another Nosferatu... or someone who would be favoured by the destabilising of the Domain's Clans, and had learnt the talent of shrouding themselves.
I have been wrong before, the Russian thought with dry, bitter humour. Yes, I am not infalliable, and sometimes the dice come down against me. Perhaps that is all this has been. A reminder not to fall back into the ways I swore I would forsake to Otets. How I miss Sverdlovsk... No wonder I have suffered here. How much of it was my association with Anton.. and how much did I bring on myself, out of my culture, my own world? No matter... No matter, now. I have yet my character, and I know how to admit my fault. I will correct it now.
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