I was just talking about my life, and this woman was pulling up the covers. It wasn't a change of subject; she just lost interest. Like flipping a switch.

Hey.

He grabs Guest's wrist. It's so thin that his hand wraps around it completely.

I just finished looking through your whole head, and you're just going to sleep?

He can feel her pulse beating slowly beneath his grip.

A win, she says. She says that without even trying to pull her wrist out of my hand.

It is a win, I guess.

He lets go of her wrist and snorts.

But you see, usually when I look at human memories, I find emotional residue. Anger, sadness, obsession. My job is to poke at those and get a reaction.

He points at Guest.

You really have nothing. Not a single drop, even if I squeeze. I've looked into hundreds of people, but this is a first.

He leans his back against the wall and looks up at the ceiling.

I got the penalty to look after you, but if there are no emotions to look after, what am I supposed to do?