Neil smiles, just a little. Maybe a third time was a charm, in a way? Though all he could think of right now was the quiet loneliness of loss each time, how long it takes to meet new people and get used to new places.

So he sinks into it a little, the quiet commiseration, the knowledge; yes, of course, there are worse things out there than Deerington, than Darrow, than any place that they might end up. They could be nowhere at all, just in complete nothingness. They could be in whatever misery they came out of in the first place.

He's sure not everyone came from a miserable place.

"I'm Neil," he says, fingerspelling his name at least as he speaks the words aloud, proud that he's picked up that much sign language from Regan at least.