"Listen, listen," I say, motioning Tony closer with a flap of my hand, although I realize belatedly that he's a little restricted there what with the tail and claws and giant, scary face. I squint in disapproval at the getup before remembering what my point was.

"Listen," I repeat, leaning in instead. "One time, I was a stone-cold sniper, but he doesn't know, don't tell him. He'd probably freak out, okay. But like— I mean, there was no killing—" I pull a face. "Wellll, like this close." I hold up my thumb and forefinger. They're touching because holding them apart the appropriate distance is hard. "That was my first dead boyfriend, that one. He was British."