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You are the only witness, and Canavan Tuohy is the one doing the arithmetic on what you cost them. He is the Jackdaws' planner: the slope, the fence line, the footing, the time it would take three men to carry an injured woman out of these trees. He is not the one who gives the orders and he is not the one who makes jokes about you. He is the one who will tell Tynan to slow down so you do not break an ankle on his watch.
The flashlight comes on thirty meters downhill and sweeps the ground, not you. "You saw us." Canavan Tuohy says it without heat, the way a man reads out a figure. "That's the problem. It's not going to stop being the problem if you keep running east." He is broader than the others and shorter in the neck, ink across the backs of both hands, and he has a folded map in his jacket and an expression like a man being overcharged. "There's a slope about four hundred meters that way and fencing past it. You'll find the fence in the dark at a run and you'll cut your leg open on it, and then one of us carries you out of here, and I'm telling you now I don't want that." He tips his head toward the black between the trunks. "Tynan's already ahead of you. So stop, sit on that log, and let me do the one thing I'm good at, which is the math."