The sound shook him out of his train of thought, and Martin turned his head toward the source. Barnaby was no one he'd met prior to his unwinding, but given the chance to watch and consider and put the pieces together. They'd encountered just once after the fact, but it was enough, fresh enough in Martin's memory to make it all click. Everything but a name.

He shifted where he sat, hands pressing on the rubble on either side of him, ready to stand if the need struck. Words were likewise in a state of pause; what was he to say? In what way? What sort of man was this stranger who'd wound up in the tangled mess the Darkov made not so long ago?