She'd already known it was serious when he said the first sentence, and before that, in the rumbling hem and haw of his tossing thoughts that kept tugging at that strange barometer in her that told her too much and almost nothing all at once except that there was something somewhere she didn't have or know. When she watches his gaze hook on the opposite end of the couch from her and linger, almost too still, with something keenly tempted, only to choose so much further away: she knows again how serious it is.

Severe enough he's acting like there needs to be some serious line in the sand between them for him.
Which makes her at least sit up the rest of the way and close her magazine, setting it flat on her lap.

The question is nearly the same as the one he'd asked last time, wasn't it? The second time he'd decided to bring anything up. She couldn't quite remember, but it feels like it. Or it's the fact that this is the subject they don't talk about, so it feels like all of what Luther has to say about their sister: it's only revolved around one or two things. For this whole time. Not that she's tried much -- at all? -- in that realm, this on, with him either, which is why she considers only a second before starting her typing.

Not a whole lot. Less this time than last.

Given she came from earlier, this time when she came in and had less time here, she's been quieter.
More distant from everything. We see each other, but not as often as we were before she vanished.

But that wasn't it, either. They were. Allison wasn't sure what to put it into. They'd started talking a little more, too. In a little bit of a different way again. Their last conversation had left Allison feeling so much lighter. A little silly, a little giddy. Just over a normal, incredibly short exchange of words, that amounted to most of nothing and trying out a new bar together the next night. Things felt ... good. Hopeful.