Despite all the training he went through learning how to preserver and do painful shit, Ephemera still has a habit of avoiding things he doesn't want to do. Like having conversations with people when he doesn't like the direction they're primed to go in. There pieces broken or warped in his implant and Ephemera, unequivocally, does not want to go there. He especially does not want to go there with Washington, who was an enemy for a very long time and now is something else, which thus far has shied away from clear definition.

They're not friends, Ephemera thinks. But they might be, one day.

He finds Washington in one of the shops. No time like the present, Ephemera supposes, and moves over to intercept.

"Yo, Washington--"

He doesn't mean to touch the man, but Washington comes up on his blindside and Ephemera corrects too sharply, bumping their hands.

For better or worse, the memory share goes both ways. Washington sees something too.