The weight of that settles in into the hollow of Neal's chest like chains wrapped around a man about to walk the plank.

But there's something else about it, too, that confirms what he first thought when he came into the Gull. She talks about him, whoever he was, in the past tense. Neal braces his elbows against his knees.

"You're living in the aftermath of losing him," he says, gently. It's not really a question, that much is obvious. "Was it one of the infected?"