He is a man with complete control over himself – unsurprising he cultivated that trait, considering how often he was used against his will – and now every iota of that control is going into keeping himself still, she thinks.

His gaze is on the fire, but she doubts he is seeing the flames. "Homecoming," she says. In her voice the words are not a fist dragging him into the darkness, but a kind, beckoning hand.

Tears have started in his eyes. The cords stand out in his neck. He's trembling. His features are flushed and twisted. "One," she says.

They are so close. She keeps a firm hand on her own worry, her own fears. Her voice is utterly calm as she places the final word into the air between them. "Freight car."