The way Lucifer's eyes sharpened in interest at Clio's protest sent another cold jolt through Will. This was what he was looking for. For the fear, for a reaction, for buttons he could push. Will'd had jailers like that before, though comparing the Sheriff and his men to the Devil seemed pitifully naive, like comparing a house fire to the surface of the Sun. He could take one lesson from those jailers, though: Be boring. Don't give him anything to latch onto, and for god's sake, don't lose your head.
"There's no story," he said, carefully bland, the expressionlessness of his voice belied by the tightness in his features and the tension in the set of his shoulders. "They drifted apart. Amicable split an' all."