"No." His distraction is particularly thunderstruck once he hears her: Allison's actual voice, in real life, not just a memory on a video. With an arch playfulness that only comes out in glimmers nowadays. She's so accepting of Five's presence, too, as if it's entirely normal, as if he's only been gone minutes and not a lifetime.

Despite the fact that Reginald isn't here to loom over them, ever-watchful and disapproving, despite the fact that it's been a year of growing more accustomed to each others' presence, Luther still doesn't broach that distance between them. Doesn't reach out to touch her or either of them. Not like he has to, for his longing to be noticeable anyway: he's always been annoyingly predictable, staring besotted over the breakfast table.

But this time there's another edge to it. A sort of bittersweet loss: he hasn't seen Number Three in so, so long. And it's not the Allison he knows. He can already sense those vague differences: her back is straight, her shoulders unburdened by everything that's to come. He has a creeping, burgeoning suspicion in the back of his mind.

"The others have been gone for months, and their network IDs are still deactivated." He'd checked. "Do neither of you really not remember?"

It's a repetitive question and he just knows he's going to catch flak from Five for being so slow on the uptake, but Luther's stuck on this detail, like a gear catching and grinding. It doesn't help that his brother is evasive as ever, simply disregarding the questions he doesn't feel like answering at the moment. But now Luther turns that assessing gaze onto him, brows furrowing into a frown, one man staring through into another though neither of them are the right shape:

"Do you remember the Icarus Theatre?"