Bill still has twelve joints in his three big alien fingers. Sharp claws are only thinly veiled, concealed under his perfectly bleached glove, as he delicately plucks the parchment from her grasp. As ever, his white eyes give away little, but even on his alien face the emotion of being touched must be obvious.

"Verily shalt I make use of this, in haste."

It disappeared somewhere into his armor.