"Yes." Very, very quietly. "Of course."

After all, this wasn't his Crowley. This Crowley had a life, a London that still looked like the Ritz--whole, lit up, alive. He was, in all the small important ways, a stranger. Az had never seen his flat, didn't know the child he looked after, who knew what else had changed?

He poured himself a glass of wine. Stopped. Set the bottle aside. "If you would prefer I go..."