Well, that was a weird reaction. Or maybe not. He'd accompanied his old man on difficult jobs from time time. He remembered the way some people clung to the very shit that was killing them, to the assholes that ruined them, to the only world they'd ever known. He'd never admitted it, but seeing that had always made his insides queasy; knowing his family benefited from their dependence on whatever it was that fucked them up just made him feel shittier. But that was just how it was, and how it was going to be. That blankness, that was something he had to get used to.

(No, it was still weird.)

But he just stood as well, unable to put his finger on what exactly was wrong with the girl. "If you're sure," he said, trying to find some kind of clue in her bearing, but coming up empty. "Just--this is House 8, all right? If you run into any trouble, you can come back here."