It took four days for Sansa to muster her courage up into one lump sum. Four whole days to sit churlish and surly under Petyr's care, not a moment of which he did not notice. Four whole days to decide upon how, exactly, she would test the bastard's claim. Four whole days to by-times mourn and celebrate her sister. Feel dread for her; miss her; hate her deeply for having left King's Landing in the first place. Not that Sansa could blame Arya for it. Not any longer.

Four days after she'd left him speaking to torch-smoke and empty stone, Sansa returned in the deadest portion of the night. She came prepared, daring to pack away a whole woollen blanket for him should he satisfy her curiousity.

At long last, she rapped her usual rhythmic announcement on his cell door.