Avery watched Lyra go, clenching his jaw. He didn't really want to upset her. She was an ally in this, and he was antagonizing her best friend. Letting the silence hang for a minute as he slowly took a few swallows of cider, he pulled himself in a bit.
"Look," he said, in a calmer tone, looking back at Rosario. "You have all the same evidence as me. What's it telling you, then? Three generations of men who are the centre of attention- in fact, not just that, a shining beacon- at college and for a little while after, and then are suddenly happy to vanish off the face of the earth. They appear to be afraid of being seen to age- or, they can't age. Or they're dead and nobody knows. The wife-slash-mother is a cardboard cutout of a person. Two people saw the youngest one perform an inhuman act that might explain how he stays young. So what's your answer? You know it's bizarre, inexplicable. What's all that telling you? Being rich isn't a superpower." He held up an empty hand in question, waiting for Rosario to logic her way out of it.