{TYLER}
A figure comes around the corner, shadowed by the low roof of the portico, and stops dead, staring straight at us. It's the Irish guy. It's definitely him; his shadowy figure looks exactly the same as it did in the catacombs.
I tense to run or duck, my hand squeezing Sasha's so tight that he might lose a finger, but then our stalker looks the other way. I hear a soft curse carrying across the water. He strolls a little further down to stop in a patch of moonlight, and unbuttons his jacket.
For a very brief moment I feel Sasha's hand squeeze back at mine, but then the man takes out a packet of cigarettes. He takes his time shaking one out, then reaches into his inside pocket once more—only to take out a lighter.
