"Have you known this place to bring us anything good without taking it again?" Percy pushed back from the table, and rose. He wore working clothes, a simple pair of pants and linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Yet somehow, it was possible to detect the line of a coat, the weight of two guns, one at his hip, the other at his back. It was there like a shadow, like smoke that curled around him.

"Perhaps I'm wrong."

Percy never said that and meant anything other than 'but I'm not.'