Occasionally, someone might catch Archie talking to thin air, but nobody ever brought it up with him, assuming it was one of those things scientists did. Nearly three decades later, there weren't many people left who knew about the extra friend and even less knew that he used to have a twin sister. After her death, the family had chosen to never speak of her again, going so far as to erase all evidence that she'd existed at all. Nobody cared and everyone was happy to pretend that the Valerians never had a daughter. Everyone except the single twin, but nobody particularly cared about a youngest son, either.
"Concerned?" he reiterated, turning that word around and upside down to see what else it might contain. He used it often enough when he talked to family members of - test subjects - patients, but he was rarely the recipient of that emotion.
"About me?" Disbelief out there in the open for her to see while his gaze was fixated on her hand. "You don't have to be. I - we - are fine. But thank you for asking." His fingers closed around the bottleneck and lifted the sweating bottle to his lips.
"Nothing has changed," Archie said, aiming for a conversational tone and didn't miss it by too far, "except for the face that represents the company now. I don't suppose you'd be interested in working in that field again?"