It’s rare that Pope touches him in affection. Usually, it hurts. It almost hurts now, in an aching sort of way, but Carver presses into it, watching Pope even as Sila comes closer. Ears pricked forward. They did good, didn’t they?

“I know,” Carver agrees, though his throat is tight. It’s a blessing. Isn’t it? There’s always someone watching. “I don’t regret any of it, sir.”