“’If you want something done right, do it yourself’. The eternal struggle of the control freak. I know the feeling.” Stephen scoots his chair, readjusting so he can prop a boot against a nearby box full of relocated books; the wine and the conversation is doing its job, slowly chipping away at him. They might ostensibly be talking about work, but there’s something more casual in his demeanour, more human and a bit less aloof for once.

“And wait, who volunteered?”

He’s trying to picture who might’ve offered. Viktor and Jayce were busy with their own projects, presumably not them; maybe it was Mobius, he was always trying to be helpful—