"There's information," said Carlos, "and then there's information. You know. The kind that will get you tortured if they think you know anything about it. Before we go on, I need to know which kind of information you want." He looked at her very seriously from behind his glasses, which caught and threw back the dim light from the bar. His mouth was a taut line: Carlos did not know how much information he could trust Sabriel with yet, but at the very least, she should know the risks.