He waits it out. It's not the first time but it's the worst it's been in years. There's so much they aren't saying. He fears that Bossie does remember, in the end. That he died in the fire, Pope's boot on his back. Screaming. None of them stopped it.

That's the greatest sin, Carver thinks.

He rubs Bossie's head. Breathing slow, and steady. "It's secure. I've got stashes all over, too," Carver murmurs. "I'll cook you a meal, little brother. You want tikka masala?"

An impossible luxury. Or it would've been, back home.