'I do not require your thanks. I never wanted anything from you but for you to turn your face to me.' As the lover to the beloved. So many before him have done so willingly, eagerly even. He thinks on their fates, and for once, thinks perhaps this is best.

He opens his eyes and stares into the fire.

'You no longer belong to the police. So, I lay claim to you, tzigani. You have no clan, and no people to call your own. Your mother tongue feels like ash in your mouth and that is -- a sin.'

The irony of that sentiment does not escape him.

'You are mine, to do with as I please. At least for today.'