[Alia skims through the man’s memories – Dean, his name, his brother Sam, their father a driven, determined, deranged force in the background, the elder boy standing between the two like a wall put out to break the force of crashing waves – like someone might flip through a book, scanning the pages, absorbing parts of words, fragments of lines, illustrations searing into her thoughts like flame. It’ll feel strange, a presence like a creeping, quiet cat, curling around his memories, pricking with her tiny tiny claws.

Finally she pulls back, sighs, quieted somewhat by the resonating agreement in his words, in his mind.] You understand, then. How it is. How it was never a choice.

[Looking up, hair tousled, Alia manages a soft smile, head tilting to one side.] You must be lonesome, Dean. Here without him. I would be lost without Paul. We’ve never been parted, until – well. Until right before I came here.