He'd known that York was around. And CT. And . . . not Maine, not really, but close. So when Carolina strolls through the door, he just laughs, a lazy, I-should've-known-it kind of laugh.

"I guess practice makes perfect." He works his way up to sitting, slinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, because even outside of the Project there's something itchy and wrong about Carolina seeing him laid out flat. Movement is uncomfortable, but it doesn't hold a candle to that. "So they got you too, huh?"