[Brown eyes appraise Cy with the flat exhaustion of someone who is fucking done with the world.]

“Little g,” [he repeats blandly.] Alright. Table that for a minute.

[The dominion of war. Wordlessly, he glances down at the note; the boy has not forgotten the poem.]

I need you to back up to the age thing again. [And Stiles is watching the other man with a sharp, piercing intensity now—desperate to find a tell.] Verify for me. You’ve been alive, without pause, for over ten-thousand years.