It tracks, with the things Credence has told him. Lost time, hurting people--the loss of his own life. Kira doesn't know what an auror is, familiar as the word seems, but he imagines it something like his grandmother, the more proactive of his family line. Exorcists and hunters, engaging creatures out in the world.

He hadn't had any ambitions toward it, but he hadn't had any ambitions after sixteen. But that was better than ten, and better than a life with Mary Lou Barebone.

"What were you trying to do," he asks, turning fully toward her, the pair of them tucked between the board and the wall. "Magic, Credence--it's all weaker here, he hasn't hurt anyone since. Maybe there's another chance? Maybe, if you really need something to do, I don't think we need any more hands in the kitchen right this second."