Star could only stare at Sly, wondering how the boy had changed so much since she’d last seen him in the forest not so long ago. His appearance had gone from unkempt to neatly clean, except for the soot and debris that covered all the boys who’d been on the lift when the recoilless rifle had been fired. Sly’s clothing had gone from tattered cotton to worn, but relatively new material, its makeup remaining unknown, but their content identifiable as high quality. Only his facial expressions had not changed. His normal look remained that of a leering clown, with one eyebrow seemingly lifted in questioning permanence. He stood before her with both arms half-extended, as if Jameson and she were going to simply hand their weapons over, and then count on him to be anything but the murderous evil force he’d demonstrated time and again.