Malcolm Bright

A little knot of guilt wads itself down in the base of his stomach, right next to the anxiety at the idea that he doesn't know Malcolm but Malcolm... sees him.

I truly don't believe that you'd do anything knowing someone would get killed because of it.

Malcolm's voice, firm and gentle, but Neal has no context to go with the sentence. He lets go of Malcolm's hand and presses his fingertips to one temple, that uneasy wonder on his face again. He looks at Malcolm, nakedly fearful this time, though it doesn't last in his expression for more than a moment. "Good at squash and axe throwing, bad at pool and bowling. I don't remember why I know that."