There's something in the way she asks, something kind. She wants to know - obviously, or she wouldn't ask - but she doesn't sound like she thinks she's entitled to know. So many people want the details just so they can repeat them to other people. He's pretty sure she does because she actually wants to know.

So he tells her, and he feels his chest clench the way it always does. "My sister. She disappeared five years ago."

It'll be six in November - but rounding up means assuming she won't come back. He doesn't want to assume all those days are lost, just because this one is.