Elijah's answer is telling enough.

"Interesting." Markus repeats, voice edged, mismatched eyes sharpening as they narrow by degrees. Somewhere in the rooted tangle of his own secondary functions, he can easily picture North wrapping polyalloy fingers around Elijah's (still) sweat-soaked neck.

He stays where he is.

"Why." Less a question than a demand this time.

"Why Carl — why didn't you ever come back?"