Same face, same voice, same head tilt and the same travelling gaze. Had to be him, then.
Rhea wasn't sure what to think or feel. What did you say to the man to whom you'd fed a stone in order to save the child who'd overthrow him eventually? And then she'd stood idly by and watched their children destroy the paradise they had built together...
'Sorry' probably wouldn't do.
"Can you," she began, eyeing him with mild wariness, "reach the magazines on the top shelf?" She used to ask - make? ask - him to fetch things for her from high places all the time.
Sticking to familiar patterns for the time being sounded good.