Fox looks in the mirror as he washes his hands, and there’s a lurch deep in his gut. He doesn’t know why. It’s his own face staring back at him, hair regulation-short, a bit of scruff around his jaw, a few grizzly scars. He runs his hand across his chin. It feels like someone else’s. He looks away.

"Well,” Henry says, measuring his voice carefully, “there’s a first time for everything.” Alex, in reply, screams into a pillow.