Luther jolts slightly as the cardboard plane flies over at him, but his reflexes are fast enough, hard-wired and automatic enough, that he reaches up and catches it in both hands, cradling it like a small bird. If he'd seized it with just one, he probably would've accidentally crumpled it in a fist.

And then he looks down at it rather than meet Five's eye, turning it end-over-end. (The plane is meticulously-assembled, carefully-painted. The colours worn from sunlight, though. He should probably give all of his models a touch-up.)

"I know," he finally says. "I can't imagine she really wants to hear from me, though."