Zechariah Meijer was not before a courtroom today. He had no crowd to regale, no essay of a case to build: he just had a brother who had made some foolish decisions.

He happened to stride past Ed as he spoke, and there was a sly slide of eyes to him as Zechariah passed – though he might just as easily notice the approval as a cheery copper chain hanging out his yellow pocket.

Or the golden cufflinks. Probably the golden cufflinks.

He settled with his white gloved hands resting against Uriel’s desk, checking his palm quickly with a skeptical look before setting it down once more.

“To better find what drives the boy who tossed the Excalibur in the lake,” Zechariah answered glibly.

He looked across all the dirty faces, crossing his arms with a haughty smile.

“You could just adopt.”

He was starting to wonder if he could get around fathering children with a loophole such as that; adopt one that was damn near full-grown anyway and launch them out the door as soon as they had a trade.