[The carts come in with the dead and Tess barely looks at them. Her attention snaps tightly to his grip on his sword, an action that has her standing up taller, ready to reach for the gun in her waistband. When he relaxes, she doesn't, her shoulders tight, her hands at her sides.

When he moves, she follows anyway.]

Two wars? Really? Well, if you think I'm "cruel" [complete with jaunty little finger quotes] then you must be the expert. I'm just twenty years into a war with the undead.