Cyrus laughs again-- a single insincere ha!, laughing at the idea that he has a life outside of work. It's not strictly true, but it's true enough. This is his first night off this month, after all.

"...I went home last week," he offers. "Had lunch with Grandma." He's thirty-three years old, has had this or some other apartment for his own use for more than ten years, but the Reagan estate is always, automatically, going to be home. "We went to that, like... District Seven place? With all the animals on the walls?" It's well-known, and a place that no one from District Seven would ever be able to afford to eat.

He nudges Stephen's leg with his foot. "She says you can stop tiptoeing around and call her any time you feel like."