“Are you actually crying? You aren’t even dead.”

“I,” J- no, Elias now- spoke delicately, voice rough from the crocodile tears he’d been shedding, “cannot believe you wore navy to poor James’ funeral.”

“Can you at least hold the umbrella so that I’m not getting rained on?”

“One would think,” Elias ignored him, “seeing as funerals are the only social events your family holds, that you would have some proper clothes to wear for one.”

“It’s dark enough. It’s practically black.” No one at a Lukas funeral would have looked twice at Peter’s coat. No one would have looked once at him either. They all preferred to keep their eyes to themselves, like civilized people. “You’re the only one here who cares about this.”

“It’s my funeral; mine is the only opinion that matters!”

“You are the most self-centered person I know.”

The other Magnus Institute employees attending James Wright’s funeral edged further away from the pair.