Nancy looks away from him, down at her feet. "I never hated myself," she tells him, though she can't look at him. Not right now. Not when every piece of Nancy Viola Bellrose sat in a manilla envelope on her table, waiting for her to give it back to Eames.

"He trusts me. I make more money this way. It's safer now, anyway- I'm not selling blood." Few vampires wanted you when you were covered in the scent of a wolf, anyway.