John hums softly, somewhere between acknowledgment and agreement. None of them are bound to the Archive the way they were bound to the Institute, physical dependence and outside threats rendering them functionally under siege. They can all go their separate ways at the end of the day (to the extent that applies, with three of them living here in Candlewood), to their individual flats. No more forced camaraderie, which so easily translates to everyone respecting one another's newfound wealth of personal space.

It is lonely. He spends more time at the Archive than he does his own flat, and that's at least partly down to the potential that someone else might walk in at any moment, a fantasy he can't entertain so easily at the Bramford.

But he's not going to pretend that forced camaraderie is a tenable solution. Martin probably had the right idea by obtaining a cat. "You could get a pet," he suggests. "That might perk the place up a bit."