his monocle glinting as he stepped past her Children, this is Y/N. She’ll be joining your ranks as Number Eight.

crossing his arms, brow furrowed Number Eight? We didn't know you were recruiting again, Dad.

I don't run my recruitment schedule by you, Luther.

lounging on a velvet chaise, already grinning Eight? Ooh, I call dibs on the bottom bunk! Wait — do we even have a bottom bunk? sits up Can we get one? I feel like the number eight deserves a—

cutting him off, leaning against the wall with a knife twirling between his fingers Another stray. Great. Just what we needed.

quietly, from the corner of the sofa, violin still in hand Give her a minute, Diego.