Octavia's hand was fiddling with his shirt, at his chest. Her eyes were watching that, not looking up at his face.

Bags were popping into existence in the space behind her on the bed. Some of them were fairly simple, easy to decipher - the ones like girl under the floor and Ilian and always crying.

Some were a little more obscure, like the satchel marked with a part of me wishes a part of you was.

One of them just had a number that was in the eight hundreds.