Gideon doesn't know what to say. Felix looks and sounds contrite, far more sincere than he can remember the man being beyond their bedroom walls. Perhaps it's the fact that, more than the time that's elapsed, this place is not the Mirador. Certainly Gideon can trace the changes wrought in him after deserting the Bastion. No man can come out from the shadows of such institutions entirely, but the change of place helps immensely.

Or perhaps it's simply that Felix has had two years to think about the life he left behind. Most likely, he thinks, it's both. But the years have altered him to Gideon's eye, and so far, it seems to be for the better.

He looks down at the tablet, writing out I before stopping, trying to gather his thoughts. Gideon blinks once and then again, hard, against the prickling pressure of tears. He slashes out the "I" and starts again. You can.