The note, he thought, was inevitable.

Cash watched the minutes tick down on Eli's pocket watch, and when ten passed, he shut it in a drawer in his desk. He tried to smooth his hair. There wasn't much to be done for it, as the look he had these days was best described as overdrawn — not shaky, like he'd been when he visited Ford, but with shadows under his eyes and slightly more stubble than he'd tolerated before Perseus' birth. He started the days buttoned-up, but didn't always end them that way, and now was no exception — he'd left his jacket on the back of his desk chair, and while his suspenders remained in place, he'd unbuttoned his shirt-sleeves several hours ago and pushed them up. He was mostly making it to work, but also taking one to two days a week off to, he said, be present for his wife. This had been one of those days. He'd been present for her, the hours she'd been awake, but other hours he'd spent reading, and smoking a cigarette out the window of his office.

He left the jacket on the back of his chair and took the stairs down. It wasn't particularly common for Cash to open his own front door, but he did anyways, and blinked at Theo, who was silhouetted in the early-evening light from the streetlamps. He hadn't seen Theo since — well. He had not seen Theo since.

"Come in," Cash said, and stepped back to let Theo inside.