Atticus's slow approach comes to an end a few paces away from Neal, where he leans back against the counter. He's close enough that he can feel the heat from the stove, and he takes a second just to watch him work. He has a complicated relationship with food; even years out of the foster homes where it was scarce or stolen from him, he can't kick the habit of scarfing his meals. There's an intimacy to this gesture he can't put to words, and wouldn't care to even if he could. He just takes a moment to feel it.

But it's late, and they're here for a reason. "I don't know what to say," he admits at length. He's not sure what's left.