Seldom cheerful, Silas tolerates the pat with a steady eye for her keeping her word on this most important matter of the good Captain. With that last button undone, he lets his hand fall back to the blanket. There are scraps of grass there for him to pick at, the slow wind of a pinstriped snake tasting the far edge in search of his wrist.

“Alright.”

It’s agreed. The hat stays.

“I’ll remain here.”