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“Anybody would have done it.”

“No.” His answer is immediate.

I look at him.

He’s no longer amused. “No, they would not,” he says. “There were dozens of people in that driveway, Elara, and most of them froze because that’s what people usually do when something happens too quickly for them to understand it. You didn’t freeze, and my daughter is alive because of that.”

Something about the way he says my name makes me sit slightly straighter.

Elara. Not Elle. Nobody calls me that unless they are annoyed with me or employed by the government.

“I didn't really think about it.”

“I know.”

“How can you know?”

“Because people who stop to consider whether getting hit by a car is sensible generally decide against it.”

Fair. I look at the phone, then back at him. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“I will pay you back.”

“No.”

“We'll fight about that later.”

“I doubt it.”

I narrow my eyes. He doesn't appear remotely concerned.

Fine. Future Elle can deal with him.

“How is Anya?” I ask.

He pulls the chair closer to the bed and sits down. The movement surprises me. I expect him to stand.

He seems like the sort of man who conducts entire conversations while everyone else remains nervously seated.

“She is physically unharmed, but she has been asking about you every twenty minutes since she returned home.”

“Every twenty?”

“I’m rounding down.”

I laugh. My ribs object. I press a hand against my side.

His eyes immediately drop to it.

“I’m fine.”

“You say that frequently for someone currently admitted to a hospital.”

“I've found optimism helps.”

“No, you haven't.”