No. The answer is in his eyes, his mind; a dim flicker. He has the same doubts, the same fears: how could they be? How could anything he has done — that their family has done — how can anything after that ever be enough? Be better?

But it has to be. Holding her tightly, firmly in his grasp, thinking of Hope — it has to be, no matter what they've done, what they might still do. "Yes." He says firmly, forcefully, as if he needs to believe in it himself. A part of him does. "We've already started."