Tillman had never been calmed so quickly after an episode. He was used to feeling raw and exposed for hours afterward, to feeling as though his scars had been neatly reopened, to feeling anxious and scared and defensive and sometimes murderous.

Exercise was the tool he used to banish his demons when he was alone. The ability to shift his focus from the world, to himself, to his body, to the screaming of fatiguing muscles, and eventually to nothing at all was a kind of transcendence that was time-consuming, but effective at calming him down.

Somehow Pig had carved a shortcut with gentle touches and soft babble. Tillman still felt somewhat raw, somewhat exposed, but he also felt compelled to keep the conversation going, instead of his usual desire to squirrel himself away alone.

"Problem is fixed," he confirmed. "Sink. Simple."

He found his hand resting on the boy's hip, though he could not recall when he had put it there. After a second of deliberation, he moved it away.