There's a soft scoff from Sophie. "There is a vast chasm of difference between saying one is a thing and being it." Little snakes of shadow move between her fingers. It's a nervous habit. The complex intertwining pattern of it helps calm her, stops some of the conflict in her mind.

"Good." That's all she says for a moment, because it is good, that John wanted to come home, that John chose Connor over his orgy of rage. It has not yet really occurred to Sophie that he might also have chosen her.

"Connor is terrified, right now." Her mouth goes wry. "We've both given him reason to be, and he has plenty to adapt to himself. I thought he might feel better if we all stayed close for a little while. He suggested moving our mattresses to the living room." She meets his eyes then, and it's hard to tell from her face what she's really thinking. "That was the favor I came to ask of you."