Number Three is flushed and smiling, though the kind made of the sharpest hair of a knife-edge, relieved, and ready when she hits the other sidewalk. Five might be the most arrogant and showy one of all of them, but she'd take any of the other five of them over the rest of the world (theirs, or this one) every single day of the week.

Oh, how true that will be, doubly, in so few years.
First, about him. Then about Ben.

"What?" Allison falls back on her heels.

It's a sharp slap, the instant frustration and self-castigation, well trained in, their Father's voice already admonishing her for being sloppy, for not using the resources already in front of her. But Five was, also, the smartest, too, especially where it came to learning brand new things. She could yell at herself later; the only important thing now is taking that device he's holding out, and looking at it. Skimming until she sees two names.

Allison Hargreeves,
followed by Luther Hargreeves.

"Who are they?" There's a fast lookup. "Relatives of Dad?"

Which seemed insane by itself, even asked. Their Father claimed no one as family. He hardly even claimed them as his children, except when there were cameras flashing and article quotes to be taken down. Except in the strictest legal sense of their purchase and adoption. It was Mom, really, who fit the name and title, who had made the name 'Father' stick, even if nothing else about the man had fit it.