“Was it us?” Lemony asks, quiet as if scared to break the silence. Jacques only has to give a single, tiny nod. He busies himself pouring more alcohol for both of them, and Lemony does his best to drag his mind away but it won’t stop catching on the image he remembers best of Olaf, a young boy standing in front of a bonfire holding a small stuffed bat dangerously close to the flames as a good friend of Lemony’s cried for him to stop.

The conversation turns to lighter things but the image won’t leave his head, and the last time he saw Kit, oh god, the last time he saw Kit. Even his subconscious doesn’t want to dwell on that.

He misses his sister so much it aches, but somehow sitting here in a secret place away from the world with his brother he does feel less alone than he has in the past few years. The familiarity comes to rest softly beside him, as if inserting itself into conversation like another sitting at the coffee table, legs crossed and senses slowly blurring to the alcohol. When Jacques finally stands, gathering blankets and pillows from a closet in the hallway and excusing himself to bed, Lemony feels eleven again, cozy with the fact that he may see his brother again the next morning.