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Even with Finch here, John hasn't found a way to really relax.

Then again, he doesn't feel as if Harold is particularly relaxed either. If nothing else, he's at least sleeping in the apartment provided to him because Harold has convinced him he should, although he doesn't especially like it and spends most of his days out and about in Darrow, trying to establish what's really happening here or how they might get out, but even after all this time he's yet to come up with anything. If they're being watched, which he's sure they are, he hasn't yet found evidence of who or what might be doing the watching.

So he explores the city. He does it all under the guise of a well meaning detective, affable and prone to smiling. It's a role he doesn't have any real problem taking on, even though whenever people leave him on his own, the smile slides away and his thoughts stray back to everything that's just so terribly wrong about all this.

Today he's in a less populated area of the city. There are still people around here and there, but for the most part the streets are empty. People who live here are at work and there isn't much in the way of any businesses lining the streets, so he's more or less on his own.

A sound distracts him and he pauses, listening, unable to pinpoint what it might be, then decides to follow it. It's as close to a lead as anything else he's seen or heard today.

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John nods his understanding, because he finds himself missing his friends more and more often, even Root, who would probably only use Darrow to find some way to drive him crazy.

"And now someone knows," he says, then smiles. "Someone who's very good at keeping secrets, so you won't have to worry about anyone finding out from me."

He studies her for a moment longer, then says, "I guess you can't go walking around the city in that suit, can you?" Which means she'll have to turn into something else and John can't deny the chance to see that again is rather interesting to him.

I blushed a little and let out a shy laugh. "You're right," I said. "It'd be kind of weird." I was wearing just a short sleeved leotard that Rachel had helped me pick out, and some Lycra bike shorts over it for the sake of modesty.

We'd learned early on that we couldn't morph clothing. If it was too bulky or loose, it sort of just slid off and billowed up around us — or ripped to shreds! But tight clothing like what I was wearing morphed with us, which was a huge relief.

"Maybe I should start leaving clothes around the city," I said thoughtfully.

"That might help," John agrees with a small smile. He doesn't have cards yet, having made no attempt to join the police force in Darrow at this point, still not entirely certain he even wants to, but he reaches into his pocket and finds a receipt, turning it over to scribble his number onto the back.

"But if you need anything or find yourself in a tight spot, you can call me," he tells her, passing her the paper.

"Oh," I said. I took the receipt and read over his information. "Thank you. I don't— I've never had help from anyone but my friends." It felt . . . kind of weird, but also kind of cool, to have someone offer their outside help. Even if I didn't ask, even if he wasn't serious, it was nice.

I wasn't entirely sure where to stick the paper just yet, though. My morphing suit didn't really have pockets, after all! I set it on the floor. "Um, one second," I said.

I focused on a fresh morph, something that I was familiar with. In a moment, my mouth and nose sort of melted together and pushed outward. My upper lip curled down into a ripping beak, and my fingers began to stretch and flatten into primary feathers. While this was happening, my feet started to change. Some of my toes shrank back and vanished, and the remaining toes lengthened while the bones of my feet shortened. My toenails grew black, then elongated and curled sharply, becoming ripping, gripping talons.

As my body continued to change, my skin sprouted white and brown feathers that unfurled like fresh spring leaves.

And then I began shrinking. Fwoom! I wasn't moving all that fast, but it felt like I was falling off a building! The world grew bigger as the ground drew closer, and if my insides hadn't been squishing into new shapes and sizes, my stomach might have flipped.

The morph was nearly complete. My eyes changed from chocolate brown to bright gold, my beak became hard and black. As my tail feathers unfurled and fanned out, I could feel the familiar osprey instincts bubble up under my own mind. There.

John makes no effort not to watch. What she can do is absolutely fascinating and he knows he's made her a promise, but he can't help but wonder what Finch might say to this. He watches as she shifts into a bird, an osprey, he believes, then takes a step back and gets to his feet.

They'll have to part ways, John can't fly along with her, so he opens the door they'd come through and steps back into the daylight.

"Keep yourself safe," he says. "And don't hesitate to call if you need."

<Thank you,> I said. I lowered my head and pecked at the paper with his number on it, then bird-walked forward and grabbed it in my talon. <I'll try not to. Usually the kind of trouble I get into . . . I wouldn't want someone involved in.>

I didn't mean to sound so ominous. But John seemed like a nice guy, and I didn't want him to get hurt. If the Yeerks were here, then he'd be a perfect target, I thought.

I flapped my wings a few times, trying to get some lift. It wasn't easy, in this warehouse, so I hop-flapped forward, until I'd made it to the door. Once I had, I transferred the paper from my talon to my beak so I could properly push off the ground. Once I was in the air, it was easy to catch a thermal and ride it straight up.

<Be safe, okay?>