Despite how prickly he tends to be about physical contact -- or anyone even thinking of getting into his personal space, frankly -- Carlisle doesn't react in the slightest as Poison brushes his sleeve. Perhaps he doesn't see, as his eyes are on the markers ahead of him; perhaps her gesture is so delicate that he doesn't notice it. Or, perhaps, he simply doesn't feel her fingers at all. His limbs are so terribly numb these days, far too cold for a man still alive.

"Not long enough," he answers, "though I suppose that would be the answer whether I had a year or a day. It is never going to be enough time to reconcile my regrets, nor to make amends for my sins."