"A spy with no cover," he responds, watching as she drinks and then recovering the bottle as soon as she does, "is like a soldier with no limbs. He's all right to parade around and decorate afterwards, a cute little mascot, but he can't go back into battle." A beat, and then a rough sigh. "Unless he's a charmed fool like Miles, but Byerly is not Miles."

A swig of his own. The bottle is getting a little light.