Kaz pulls himself together in increments, an almost visible change coming over him as he does. Straightening to his full height, craftily using the cane to keep himself steady but not letting it seem he's using it at all, and schooling his expression to hardened and judgmental as if he's not swollen and bruised.

Kaz doesn't think he's the same but is it any different if everything and everyone you think you are was formed through trauma when you were nine and it was do this or die on the streets? He doesn't think of that thought, glad to focus on the other rather than himself.

"What habits do you want to leave behind? Who did you think about growing up to be? Or did you never even have a child's fantasies?"