"They'll share." Quiet. Firm. "Mia will see to it. That's why the confectionary, tomorrow -- something they won't have to share."

He slips his hand back in Alistair's, stroking the back with his thumb.

(Alistair, he notes, wasn't -- off. When they left.)

"We didn't have much in the way of reading material, when we were young." Time to prattle, Cullen supposes. "We could read and write, and do sums and the like. But there was plenty we wanted to know. And even if it -- was better, after I left them, I can't imagine they had time to pack everything up. Or keep anything worth selling. So they'll share."