Ah. They're toeing around the source, now, closer than - Arthur would have to assume - Hanna might ever have talked about it.

He stands up then, his movements slow and predictable, so he can shift to sit directly next to Hanna. Enough space that they're not touching, but easy to lean over and nudge if one of them wants. But he sits upright, and rolls back his gloves with a flick of his wrists, knotting his fingers in his lap.

"My hands murdered my best friend," he says, quiet and plain, like the drop of a hammer on wood. "But I didn't kill him. John did, when he first possessed me. When he... made me read the book that contained him, to release him."