It almost feels like a real conversation, this exchange in the doorway. Whether they're both on their best behavior, just good at hiding their relative feelings, or simply making progress, it hardly matters for this. Blake doesn't want to fight. Maybe Crane won't want to, either.

"Thanks," he says, simply. The dust clings to him, itching at his skin in ways that he's had trouble resolving. He's unsettled, agitated within his own coffin of flesh. It's tempting to hide away in the Horizon, imagine away his worries and pain, but that would be far too easy, and no less painful in the end, only protracting the experience.

"It's nice." There's a sincerity involved, the kind that can't be ignored. As a kid who got tossed around the foster care system, there's a sense of pride and accomplishment tied to the idea of a place of your own. He can't disrespect that.

With no additional pretext, he passes over a note retrieved from his pocket. Unfolded, it reveals Jayden's handwriting. He explains that in the event of his disappearance from Abraxas, his things should be taken into Blake (and Hilda's) possession to be dealt with as deemed appropriate. There's no mention of Crane, but Blake is here regardless.