[ Her hands move to take the plate from him without her really thinking about it, most of her attention split between what he's saying to her and what she remembers of those days when the Darkov compound was in this universe. It's automatic, as she rubs the plate dry with the dishrag, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

These things — things like childhood. She can't relate anymore. She can't remember. ]

It's good that it didn't stay here. [ She murmurs lowly: ] Don't think Martin needs the reminder. We've looked after him a year and a half now, and it hasn't been easy, teaching him he doesn't always have to be afraid. That he's allowed to say no.