ESPRIT DE CORPS:Sergeant Mack "the Torso" Torson and Satellite Officer Chester McLaine stand at the crossroads of a busy street, stopping people as they pass and demanding information on the whereabouts of a man named Bastien Minot. Due to the aggressive nature of their questioning, most people they stop seem to be under the impression that Bastien is wanted for a crime of some kind.

Dinner was a moderate success. There wasn't really enough room for Harry at the table, but he managed to wedge himself into place, sitting half-sideways in his chair. Judit and Bastien clearly had a lot less bulk than he did. Harry had to redirect Louis to eating in between telling stories, and tried his best to prevent him showing off all the things he could do with a fork covered in red sauce. Despite his best efforts, the table, the walls, and Louis' clothes were lightly splattered. Toward the end of the meal, Harry finally found an effective strategy to get Louis to stop making a mess: telling him that if he got too dirty he'd have to take a bath.

Olive had opened up a little. She laughed at some of her brother's antics, and Harry got her to show him a few sketches in her book. She really wasverytalented, for any age, let alone for eight years old. If she'd been born into a wealthier family, she'd probably be able to go to college for art, if she wanted to. Towards the end of the meal, though, she started to close in on herself again, like a wilting flower, and Harry wasn't able to draw her out again. When they were finished eating, Olive took her sketchbook into her and her brother's room and shut the door.

EMPATHY:Go check on her? Or give her space?

REACTION SPEED:Yeah? Which is it?

ENDURANCE:Don't fuck this up.

COMPOSURE:Clean up the kitchen first. Give yourself a second to think.

Louis wandered around the kitchen, chattering away, trying to help as Harry washed the dishes. Eventually Harry handed him a soapy rag and told him to wipe the spaghetti sauce off the wall and table. Not that Louis would do a good job cleaning, but it was better than having him reaching into the water while Harry was washing a knife.

"Hey, Louis," said Harry, scrubbing the pan he'd used to make the sauce, "do you think your sister is doing okay?"

Louis sighed. Harry glanced over his shoulder. Louis was aimlessly pushing the rag around the table.

"I think she's sad again. When she gets sad she lays in her bed and won't play with me." He laid his head down on the table, still poking at the rag.

"Does she get sad a lot?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. Sometimes."

Harry furrowed his brow. "How long does she stay sad?"

"Sometimes it's not that long. Sometimes it'sforever." Louis gradually slid down the chair he was sitting on until he was under the table.

CONCEPTUALIZATION:To a child his age, "forever" could mean anywhere from an hour to a month.

Harry put the pan in the drain rack to dry, pulled the drain plug, letting the soapy, tomato-scented water gurgle down the drain. He dried his hands on a towel.

"I'm going to talk to her. Can you play by yourself until I'm done, Louis?"

Louis sighed again, still crouched under the table. "Okaaaay," he said, obviously reluctant to be left alone.

"If you want, you can pick out some books for me to read to you when I get back," Harry offered.

Louis nodded, still morose.

ESPRIT DE CORPS:Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi steps into his motor carriage. He pulls out his notebook, opening it to a neatly recorded list of parks, bars, and other spots around the city. These locations are farther out from the station, and would take far longer to reach on foot, but not too long in the Kineema. Four entries have already been crossed out. Kitsuragi draws a carefully straight line through the fifth, then tucks the notebook away and starts the motor carriage.

Harry knocked softly at Olive and Louis' bedroom door. No response.

"Olive? Is it okay if I come in?" he said. Still nothing.

He cracked the door, waiting to hear a protest, but the room was silent. The lights were off. Maybe she was sleeping? He pushed the door open.

In the light from the sodium lamps coming in through the gap in the curtains, Harry could see Olive's outline, curled in the bottom bunk, covered entirely in a blanket with a pattern of soft blue clouds. A sniffle came from the mound of blankets.

"Hey, Olive," said Harry softly, crouching next to the bed. "Louis told me you might be sad, so I thought I might come sit with you, because that helps me sometimes when I'm sad."

Olive made no response.

"If you'd rather be alone, though, it won't hurt my feelings. I know you don't know me that well."

Silence, still.

HALF-LIGHT:You're fucking this up already. She's a scared kid - why would she want some random man sitting with her?

AUTHORITY:Order her to tell you what she wants! How are you supposed to help if she won't tell you?

SAVOIR FAIRE:No, better just leave. Safer.

Harry stood up. "Okay. I'll be out in the living room if you need anything." He turned to go, but when he turned the doorknob–

"Wait," said a small voice from under the covers. "Stay."

VOLITION:She wants you here, beside her. It's easier to face this when someone is with you.

"All right." Harry sat down on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed. They were both silent for a moment. Harry heard the faint sound of horse hooves passing in the street below.

"I'm happy to just sit here with you," said Harry. "But I'll listen, too, if there's anything you want to tell me."

Silence from under the covers. Then there was a rustling, and Olive pulled back the covers enough to reveal her face, her tear-stained cheeks shining in the light from the window. She stared at Harry, her brow wrinkling.

SUGGESTION:She's trying to work herself up to say something. Wait. Let her get it out.

Harry waited, his eyes traveling up to the stars glowing on the ceiling.

"Is…" said Olive. Her breath hitched. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. She opened her mouth and closed it again. Still, Harry waited, not speaking. "Is our dad…Is he dead?"

"Oh," said Harry in a puff of breath, feeling as though he'd been kicked in the stomach.

EMPATHY:This has been eating away at her for hours. Ever since she came home from school and he wasn't here.

DRAMA:Lies will not assist here, sire.

"I…don't know," Harry whispered. The words hurt to say, like shards of glass coming up from his lungs, but it would have hurt more to say anything else. "Your mom and a bunch of people who work with us are looking for him. I hope they can find him."

Olive started to cry in earnest. Harry pulled himself up to his knees again, turning to face her.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I would have told you earlier if I knew you were worried about it." He put a hand on the bed next to her. Her own small hand appeared from under the covers, and he took it, squeezing it gently.

"I-I should have told somebody," Olive sobbed, gripping Harry's hand tight.

"You did, though," said Harry, confused. "You called your mom and told her."

"No," said Olive. "I saw– I saw Papa in the kitchen." She curled into a tighter ball under the covers. "I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, so I got up, and he was sitting out there drinking from that bottle you picked up–"

EMPATHY:Oh no…

"And he had– he had a sharp thing, like- like for a razor I think, and he was– he pressed it– here." She pushed her other hand out from under the blanket and tapped Harry's wrist, just below his palm.

EMPATHY:No, no…

Harry swallowed and said nothing, just nodded for her to continue.

"And he– he started bleeding. A lot." She sniffed and wiped her nose. "He started swearing, and he got a towel, and I couldn't move, so I watched him…" her voice trailed off into sobs. "He told Mama he'd- he'd cut it on some broken glass."

"When was this?" Harry whispered.

"In January."

EMPATHY:She's been carrying this around for four months.

COMPOSURE:Hold on. Wait until she's finished.

"But he–he did it again!" It was all pouring out of Olive now. "He doesn't cut himself, but he sits there a couple times a week, with his sleeve rolled up, holding the sharp thing to his arm, and I didn't tell anyone, and he's going to kill himself, and it'll be my fault!" She buried her face in the blanket.

PAIN THRESHOLD:She's been walking around for months, expecting her dad to kill himself any day. It was agony.

"Oh, Olive," said Harry, his voice cracking. A tear fell down his cheek and he wiped it away. "I'm so sorry. I don't–" He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT:Don't be such a nancy.

COMPOSURE:Don't fall apart. You don't want her comforting you.

VOLITION:Take a deep breath. Keep going.

"Sweetheart, look at me," said Harry. Olive raised her face from the blankets, peering out at Harry again. "It'snotyour fault. Whatever happens." He squeezed her hand again to emphasize his point. "You're one of the reasons he's sticking it out. You're helping him just by being his kid. And if I– If I had kids, I'd be so happy if they were just like you." He brushed Olive's bangs out of her eyes.

Olive's face crumpled and she started to cry in earnest again.

"Do you want a hug?" Harry asked.

She nodded.

"Okay, come here," he said, scooting back to give her some room to get out of bed.

Olive slipped out of bed and wrapped her arms around Harry's shoulders, holding on tightly. Harry held her, rubbing her back and making reassuring noises, for several minutes, until her crying petered out.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT:She's exhausted.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT):Unsurprising. Your watch says it's almost ten thirty.

"Olive, I think you'll feel better if you can get some sleep. Can you change into your pajamas?"

Olive nodded into his shoulder.

"Okay. I'll go check on Louis." Harry let go of Olive and got to his feet, his knees aching from bearing his weight for so long. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

Louis had fallen asleep on the couch, one foot resting on its back, one arm trailing onto the floor, where there was a haphazard stack of books he'd been waiting for Harry to read.

"Sorry, Louis," Harry whispered. He jostled Louis' shoulder. "Hey."

Louis stirred, squinting up at Harry. "You said you'd read to me," he said.

"I know," said Harry. "I'm sorry. It's time to go to bed, but I can still read to you as you fall asleep, if you want."

"Yeah," said Louis.