He has no willpower for this. "Surely even Hamilton cannot be so--" But he stops, because, if anyone could turn out a distressed and sick mate after being the cause of such a brutal attack, Hamilton could.

Jefferson turns away.

It is a slave whom Burr finds lifting him to his feet, and guiding him indoors. To where the smell of Jefferson is everywhere, and the violent metal smell of his blood threads through it like a flaw in weave.

Jefferson does not even sit up. He is pale, wan. His scent is of wound, weakness. "You cannot be here," he says, "you must go to your husband."