"Upstairs," he answers, emerging from the bathroom and tossing the phone onto the bed. "The house is empty save for us, I can personally certify. I'll come down."

When he does, his t-shirt is ripped open at the collar and scorched all down the front. A bandage, untidy but functional, covers part of the left side of his neck where it meets his shoulder. He smells of blood and ash, both of which are smeared here and there on his clothing; there are bruises darkening on his cheek and both arms.