The Brucolac didn't start, but flicked out his tongue to taste the new dirty-leather scent in the air, feeling faintly satisfied. He tossed the feeling aside; complacency wasn't going to help.

"Depends who's watching me," he answered easily, not bothering to express the vague, back-of-the-mind irritation her flicking through his papers caused. Fingerprints, he thought resignedly. Ah, well. "Depends what I'm doing."