Al's lip was bitten down already, a childhood habit he never caught or dismissed as he grew up. His face was pale and he looked like a wide-eyed owlet behind the heavy frames of his glasses.
Was he glad to be here in return? Did he hope the same? No and no. But he had to. He had to come and talk to her.
The only question remained: what did he want to say most? Giving any information to a prisoner of war was surely a bad idea.
So... There was only one thing left, then.
"When Dad died -" Al stared at his sister from his seat, and asked: "- was it quick?"