It breaks Marcus's heart, the way the boy starts to cry, and he reaches up to a nearby table without even looking at it, pulling a few napkins free from the holder there. Around them, the cafe is slowly returning to normal, the glances in their direction slowing down as other people begin to assume Marcus has the situation well in hand, and it's a bit of a relief, honestly. If they aren't going to help, staring at the boys is only going to make them more upset, he thinks, and more uncomfortable.

"Here, duck," he says, holding the napkins toward the boy. "I know you're frightened, but you're safe now, I promise. The both of you. I won't let anything happen to you."

He had almost been prepared to sit down right there with them, explain what it means to be brought to Darrow, but it's the too-large clothes that distract him from that. It wasn't so long ago he'd been in a similar situation, waking up in an unfamiliar bed, the dresser drawers filled with clothes meant for a much taller man, and when Marcus glances between the two boys, an uncomfortable suspicion begins to grow in his stomach.

"My name is Marcus Keane," he says. "Can you tell me your names?"