Several hands deep into a conversation that's mostly been about their respective luck of the draw, at the end of a lull, Bastien glances up from his hand (dismal) to do a status check on Marcus' face (somewhat less so). Personal questions never feel like a safe bet with him. Not quite. But the room is quiet, nearly empty, the only other occupants occupied with a game that didn't have space for them. Rain's pattering outside the Loose Noose's unshuttered windows, and Bastien's rolled up sleeves are as disheveled as he voluntarily gets in this company, and there won't be a better time—

"Can I ask," he says, tentative in the way that means it isn't merely a formality or figure of speech, "what made her your sister? I assumed it wasn't blood."

Prematurely, maybe. Not impossible for half siblings to look as dissimilar as Marcus and Tsenka do. Did.