Benedict nods, thinking it over. Colin knows what he's talking about, he likes to think, which means he isn't in this alone anymore.
But who's to say everyone won't be barred from him again? His fingers tighten around the painting, reminding him that it's there, and he pulls it away from his chest to look at it again.

"I've been so alone," he observes timidly, "I don't know how to... even begin."