She hadn’t been sure if he was going to answer, or if she would have had to ask him once more to break him out of his reverie. Even so, it took him a beat and Irene saw his eyes refocus before he started moving. In any other scenario where she hadn’t gone through witnessing Mr. Hunt’s death - or where she hadn’t known the look on his face like she knew the back of her hand - Irene might have brushed off his apology, taken the paper and walked off. Instead, she remained there, papers in hand and watched his expression flicker once more.

It was an intrusive thing to watch him take in the picture in his hand, something that Irene knew she sympathized with; at least on some level.

The picture was returned back to the pile, and Irene looked back down at it. It was crumpled with a bit of dirt here and there, but otherwise the paper remained intact. She should have said thank you. Should have smiled and walked away, wished him a good day. Instead, looking up at him, placid with a wry expression: “Is it?” as if he’d just commented on the impending weather. “I only saw them from further away, not closer than you.”

Irene looked up from the sketch, not at him but at the family who were now walking away. It was her turn to furrow her brow and stare after them. The father was tall, almost as tall as Elias. Even if he had been all alone, she would have known with one look from across the park that it wouldn’t have been him. The only similar appearance between the two was his height and hair color. The mother had darker hair too. And the child…looked a perfect combination of the two. “Lovely family.”

She shook herself from her own thoughts before pressing her lips together and peering up at him. “You don't know them, do you?”

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