It might be difficult for someone else to manage this three-way conversation, but Five only feels a vague sense of tedium beating at the back of his skull as he tries to wrangle out the answers he needs between his siblings. At the idea that Number Three, this version of his sister that he's been chatting with (fairly pleasant, in relative terms), knows what Luther is yammering about—well, they'll find out in short order.

He gives Number Three another look, his brows knit together this time. "He says you know where his safehouse is? Ring any bells with you?"

Turning back to his brother on the phone, Five attempts to identify the nearest shops and street signs, but it's not the smoothest operation when he can hear in perfect chaotic clarity the sounds of Luther fumbling around on the other line. There's no time for these hijinks, he thinks but doesn't say (yet); can't they get it together for a few moments at least?

It should be noted, that his final few memory before coming here, a last-ditch effort as they all held hands, plunging themselves through the fabric of time—now that was enough to instill in Five a sense of hope. Even a shred, even a sliver, that he could finally find some way to reunite with all of his siblings; to save the world; to make things right, when his entire life had been spent in examination of one terrible mistake.

This, however, is starting to feel like a step or six backward already. His narrow shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. "That's not the most pressing issue at the moment," he argues, feeling unease at just laying into his last string of memories. They could all be from wildly different timelines, and this is a rocky enough moment where he doesn't feel the need to put either Luther or Allison into a troubled state.

Five knows best, in other words.