Graham nods. "I remember it. I tore down the police tape, and you walked in after me."

And then, he takes a deep breath, his fingers pressing into his palms.

"Are we gonna reenact the crime?"

The work is deliberate, nothing like the soft haze in which he'd echoed the words before. It's his voice, but the rhythm of the words, and the tremor in the last one, is unmistakably Abigail's.