Watching her peer in the direction of the kitchen, Ben was struck by a memory not his own. It belonged to her, to the child she'd once been, lonely and desperate and hungry, on a planet ill-suited for inhabitants, let alone a little girl. A memory he'd stolen, while searching for a man that he'd once been so convinced he needed to kill.

Her voice brought him back to himself, and patting his pocket to make sure he'd remembered the billfold he'd acquired for Darrow's strange paper and plastic credits, he nodded, pushing one of the menus in her direction. Afterwards, he let his hands rest, folded calmly on the table as he fought the urge to bury his face in his palms and weep.

He'd been alone for so long, and he'd thought it only fitting that he be alone in Darrow, as well.