Chilton glanced towards the jutting hip, judging it from his lofty position. It was a sharp jut, the sort that cut nonlinear lines into the unsuspecting air. It was the jut of a man convincing himself of something.

The face he made was one of decreasing and highly pursed lips.

"She'll do whatever she pleases," he responded. "I anticipate that any external influence advocating one direction has a halfway chance of provoking the other direction."

He rolled his eyes a little, as if his familiarity with her could afford him such expression. It was the sort of casual ownership that Chilton often did, without thinking twice about the implications.