All they had left of Andal Brask was his cloak. Shiro-4 rubbed the fabric between his fingers and wished he still had skin to feel its texture. "Do you remember what it was like?" he asked Cayde-6. "Touching things with Human hands?" "Your hands are Human," Cayde answered in a low voice, as if grinding out the words through teeth he also did not have. That was the last he and Shiro spoke of being Exos for a long time. They reminisced instead about the man who had just died his final death. Remembered the triumphant sound of his laugh. Calculated his gambling debts and who among his friends would pay them. Fantasized about whether or not he kept a secret lover in the City, and what that person might be like. "Andal wasn't the type to keep secrets of the heart," Shiro said. "You know that. He lived boldly, loved boldly." Cayde raised his bottle. "Died boldly." Shiro drank to that, saying nothing of what they could or could not taste—or whether they could or could not get drunk. But when Cayde wrapped Andal's cloak around himself, Shiro at least knew it wasn't because he was cold. Shiro grinned. "Looks good on you." "It better, because it ain't ever coming off."