Tav watched him.
The question was specific in the way Alistair's questions were often specific: it sounded like a general inquiry and was actually precise. It was asking: given last night, and what last night was, and what it means, how are you?
"I'm—" He stopped.
He thought about the accurate answer.
"I'm recalibrating," he said.
"Yes," Alistair said. "Me too."
"That's not alarming," Tav said. "That's appropriate. When the relevant facts change significantly, the calibration needs to update."
Alistair looked at him with the warm expression that arrived in unguarded moments.
"You're treating this very practically," he said.
"I'm treating it honestly," Tav said. "I find practical and honest tend to coincide."
"What are the relevant facts as you've catalogued them?"
Tav fixed on the table.
"That the thing I've been feeling since approximately week two has a name," he said. "And that the name is accurate and has been confirmed as mutual." "And that this changes the operational context significantly."
"Significantly," Alistair said.
"Ablation will intensify monitoring. The data from the last twelve hours will exceed whatever threshold Cain has been watching for. The Final Directive—"
"Tav," Alistair said.
"—is likely to be—"
"Tav." His voice had the quality it used when he needed Tav to stop processing and be present. "I know all of that."
Tav found his face.
"I know," Alistair said again, more gently. "I've been running the same assessment." He held Tav's gaze. "I'm asking how you are. Not the operational situation. You."
The kitchen was warm and Sunday-quiet. Outside the window the city was doing its slower weekend work.
"I'm—" Tav stopped.
He thought about what was true.
"I'm better than I've been in a long time," he said.
Alistair studied him.
"That's what's true," Tav said. "Whatever comes with it — the monitoring, the escalation, all of it — that's also true. But separately, underneath all of that: better."
Alistair was quiet.
"Yes," he said. "Same."
The morning settled around them.
At some point Alistair opened the sketchbook and turned it toward Tav — not all the way, just enough to show the page he'd closed when Tav arrived.
