Art's hands came free easily, yielding beneath Robin's touch.
The phone was still there, a looming presence pressing on his mind (tap! bug! tracker! the whole hideout's fucking burned!), but Robin's presence said safe, a familiar confidence in his eyes and an anchoring certainty in the firm grasp of his hands.
(It was the touch especially that did it. It had been a long time since anybody had touched him, since touch was a thing to be sought and not fought off. The first time Stutely had clapped him on the shoulder, the emotions had risen up so sudden and unexpectedly, like a flash flood, and he'd wound up clinging to the man in a sobbing mess.)
So Arthur tried to breathe. And he tried to listen. Marian was a proper hacker these days. She had this whizbang computer, like summat out of the future. But... "How, though?" he asked insistently, though the edge of panic had receded.