It was like she had lodged herself in where his secrets lived, and Kieran didn't think she was even aware of it. He swallowed again, although there was no tea in his mouth, and he just kept his hands cradling the mug. He remembered wavering on his feet in Jude's flat in the gray morning light, blood on his ankle. The burn scar under his clothes itched. Jude's hand stilling when he realized what Kieran had done. Momentum for positive change; stopped.

"It's never on purpose," Kieran said carefully, "When people mess up." Supposedly, of course, supposedly there were werewolves who let themselves hurt people on purpose, or who wanted to be turned; Kieran didn't believe that they really existed. Of course he'd never met one, and that was probably for the best — the thought of it was enough to cause a spark of irritation.

That didn't really answer her question — if it was a question, maybe problem was the better word — did it? He glanced down at his mug and then back at her. "You think that if people know, they'll be more open? To changing the way we're handled?"

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