Poor bastard, Jason thinks again, and feels a headache brewing that has nothing to do with this candified absurdity. He doesn't have the time, the energy, the space left over for pity.

He exhales.

"He ruined your life. That much I could tell you without looking. He gutted you. It is what angels, fallen or not, tend to do.

"Two weeks? Perhaps you'll return to something approaching normalcy. How long were you bound?"