Zechariah fixed Crane with an utterly flat look, willing him by power of gaze to put assemble all the pieces he had so carefully laid out.

Warmer, warmer- mmph. No such luck.

He buffed his meticulously filed nails on his collar.

“Yes,” he answered, an unvoiced ‘but’ lingering before he continued on. “It will pass. You know that already. Those words are not even worth the ink on paper, after all.”