Rex watched him for a long, silent moment. He wore the warm, measured expression of Rex at his most masterfully performed, the specific, curated warmth that people received when Rex wanted them to feel profoundly, irrevocably heard.
It was a mask of pure empathy, a masterpiece of psychological engineering.
"The shape of things is always changing, Theo," Rex said softly, his voice carrying the weight of a universal law. "Change is the only constant we are permitted."
"What actually matters is whether the people inside that shape are still standing when the transformation is complete."
Theo stared at him, the tension in his shoulders finally beginning to bleed away, replaced by a weary sort of respect.
"You are significantly better at this than I expected," he admitted, a small, lopsided shadow of a smile touching his lips.
Rex offered a mild, unassuming expression, the perfect picture of a man who was merely a student of life.
"I have had practice," he replied.
