Ronan's expression becomes complicated. Nothing about the shape of his mouth changes, but he isn't smirking anymore. He looks like he's mimicking amusement rather than feeling it, his jaw fixed with tension to keep all his features from sliding toward something truer.

He can see Adam's finger tracing the shape of The Moon, the image crudely etched in black on a well-worn card. Ronan hadn't been listening very carefully when Adam explained its meaning. He'd been studying the dry cracks across Adam's knuckles, trying to imagine a balm that would make them less angry. It didn't happen in a day, learning what all those cards meant. Ronan got to know them over months, just like he got to know Adam, and although they never spoke to him, he figured out how to read them the same way he figured out how to read the crease between Adam's pale eyebrows.

"Not really," he says, lifting one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. "They mean something different to everyone."