Sypha listens. She's good at that - a lifetime of nomadic travels, of listening to stories and witnessing history, remembering it so it can be passed on and shared. She knows how to fill in the gaps in conversations, too, but mostly she lets him talk and share. This is his space to do so, and Sypha makes that space for him gladly.

She struggles a little bit with his admission of terrible selfishness, but in light of the situation and reason, she can let her kneejerk judgment fade - ever the altruistic idealist who once suggested peeing in a bucket and serving it as ale to the best worst man she ever met, just because he was rude to her.

Though he was really rude though.

That story, she shares with Bruce as well. Shares it with a softness to her face not unlike his when talking about Selina Kyle.

The lunch is appreciated, and the hot chocolate delights her almost as much as the book does. In fact, she almost forgets Bruce or the Night Market or Beacon at large exist while skimming the first pages, red-cheeked with soft embarrassment when brought back to reality.

She's proud, in the end, of that jar she makes him, tired and exhausted, but accomplished. It's all in there. Lemon cake and breakfast, lectures and reading. Everything, and it's all Bruce's now. Along with the jar comes a rolled up piece of parchment, sealed with wax. Free of charge, don't tell Pluto. And Sypha is very clear that he cannot under any circumstances open it until the Night Market has left.