"I do not have any money," she admits, hating it, hating the withdrawn downward cast to her gaze and feeling Raleigh with his underlying streak of pride and self-castigating frustration as he squares his imaginary shoulders. "I cannot pay you."

She has nothing, nothing but the storm-tossed memories fragmented into scraps by the drift and the nondescript PPDC-regulation clothes she wears. Her hand unconsciously seeks out her dogtags, wraps fingers around the thin metal of the chain and clutches it like a lifeline.