Riko was red; angry welts and dark blood caked under nails. He was the flashing lights of a goal Jean had allowed him to score. He is still a blaring alarm that Jean must treat as a drill. Evacuation has never been an option.

Kevin is green; springtime eyes and pastures on postcards. He’s a light that says go, go, go. He is envy, and jaded doubt, and bile expelled from a gut that Jean should have known better than to trust.