His pack. Shit, she had a good way of remembering shit. He felt his hand sweat and, for the first time in his life, he questioned his ability undercover. Because Vannah was angry, angry as a housecat with its tail stepped on. No, angrier even. He sucked in hot harsh air, and finally cracked his neck and decided he had to be rough. He had to hurt her a bit, hopefully, she'd move on. Find a prince. Because if he died he didn't want her to think about him too much. If he made it, maybe he could make amends.
"Well, Princess, I wouldn't want you to scuff up your glass slippers by visiting La Quinta anyways." And with that, Art hung up.