Vax had never heard the word before, so he really couldn't say. But he understood well enough the sudden quiet to her mood. "Your sister," he supposed softly.

He didn't know what to say for that, and there may not be anything. If there was one thing he understood - as well as any mortal could, short of actually dying themselves - it was death. The making of it, fending against it, the recognizing all that came after. So he just leaned forward, a bit, reaching to fold his gloved hand over hers for a soft squeeze.

"I think," he said finally, only after the moment had passed, "that you are a very remarkable woman, Miss Fisher. Thank you for having me over." It might have sounded forced or insincere, awkward, from someone else. But he meant it, truly.