He takes a step, two, three, tentative. He hadn't realized that Burr was still alive, somehow. The man must be living quietly, calmly, in his later years. Why didn't Alexander assume? Burr probably has a good twenty years left.

He reaches out, and brushes his fingertips at Burr's elbow. Almost afraid, thinking it's a delusion.

I don't learn, Alexander thinks. "What could I do?" he asks. "How could I even hurt you, now, much less -- enough for that?" The country isn't at stake anymore; Alexander isn't at the center of a spiderweb of connections and contacts, wielding power like breathing.

Now Alexander is alone, omega, whore. He'll come out of it with money, enough money to live well. That, in this life, is going to have to be enough.