"They worry about you," Jenkins muses.

His steps so quiet that Ezekiel nearly stumbles. Continuing forward, Ezekiel wonders, "What do you mean?"

"Ever since you've come back from that video game. It's as if they are waiting for you to snap."

"Well, I won't," as he places down the books in his hands. Expecting a conversation, he turns to look at Jenkins, "I don't remember the game."

"Ezekiel, while I may not always respect your hobbies, I certainly respect the man. Now, the truth," Jenkins stares with the weighted gaze of a thousand years

He deflates. "How did you know?"

"Ah yes, it's the eyes. They're so much heavier since you've returned. Dare I say, the eyes of a soldier. One that has seen enough death to last a lifetime," Jenkins laments

A sigh escapes Ezekiel. "I lost count, I think around 107? Or maybe I don't want to remember. Because I don't. I watched as each of them died over and over as I failed. I died a thousand deaths yet here I stand. How can I burden them with that?"

"I don't know," Jenkin's voice strong yet laced with grief. "But I do know that my friends have been dead for centuries. I end every day hoping to hear their voices, to see their faces, and to tell them of all that has happened." He takes a moment to collect himself. "Your friends care for you and are stronger than you believe."

"Maybe. But for now, let them wonder," Ezekiel countered.

"As you wish." Turning to continue his stroll through the stacks, he calls "make sure those books are in the correct place, Ezekiel. I shall know otherwise."