Crane is a private individual, a quiet one, and that's why there's nothing of his on any table where such things would be, or anything on the bookshelf other than a thin copy of Poe's short story. This was a room for his patients - filling it with his things would take away from their conversation, or they would turn it around on him.

His ears prick at the mechanical sound, eyes searching for the source, staying level with only the slowest of movements. He's keeping Ed under his microscopic gaze but attempting to maintain a level of comfort. The kid's arm and the way it shifts across his legs. He picks up on the difference, though it's slight. It looked heavy. Having to carry all that weight must be a burden.

"So I did," he says simply.

His voice trails off. Focused on something else completely. He has never known a child with such an injury to not have some fear or another. How had the limb been lost? He crosses his own legs, right over left, in a mirror to subconsciously draw attention to Ed's own defensiveness.

"I never got your name. Why don't you begin with that?" He tilts his head slightly. It was freely available from their conversation on the network, but saying it would reveal his reading... habits. There was no need to make his new client uncomfortable.