Ikora didn't react when she heard the cloak slide to the floor with a soggy thump, or when the chair by her side scraped back. When Chalco kicked her boots up onto the table beside her, Ikora only moved her datapad a precise six inches to the left. She tapped into the Vanguard duty roster. Another page to review, and more messages flooding in at every moment. Chalco sighed loudly. "I lost him." Ikora glanced to her right. "Lost him?" "He's stealthier than you'd think, even when you think you know how stealthy he is. Why we thought he'd be a useful asset, I guess." Ikora turned at last, placing her datapad face down on the table. She took Chalco in: tired, muddy, armored vest undone and hanging by its straps. "Well, that's not a terribly auspicious beginning for what I wanted to tell you," Ikora said, "but I'll forgive you." "If you tell me I have to go back out tonight, I'm quitting. And I'll never talk to you again." "You never have the commitment to make that work," Ikora said lightly. She laid her hands in her lap. "I'm stepping in to give Zavala more support in his work. I've been firmly informed that it's a full-time job in itself—and that means I need a trusted hand on the Hidden." Chalco scrambled to sit up, bootheels scraping loudly across the table. "You're serious?" she asked. "No, of course you are. Damn, Ikora, first you give up fieldwork, then you pass on the curse to me?" "Will you do it?" "Of course I'll do it. Do you know how mad I'd be if you asked anybody else?" Ikora held out a hand. Chalco clasped it. Wet fieldweave prickled unpleasantly against Ikora's bare palm. She tightened her grip. "I'll make you proud, boss," Chalco said. Ikora said, "You already do… boss."