At his words, her heart does a quick flip in her chest. It's unsettling.

"Everything," she confesses, lips curving in a wry smile. "But I've no clear notion of what to ask."

Abigail threads her fingers together in her lap and squeezes, keeping herself from touching him, fussing over him. Whenever his eyes go hollow like that, she has an irrational urge to comfort or cuff him.

"Where you call home seems as good a start as any."