Part of him wished she would starseed him. She knew how to do it. Knew where to reach. He couldn't put up a fight as Eion, couldn't dissuade her. If she was fast enough, he could do nothing to stop her as Faustite, either. Then that would tie up all his problems neatly, punctuate the end of his sentence, resign him from life after death.

Sometimes he resented Taenite for finding that bone in Axinite's office. Sometimes he wished he hadn't stopped Monoceros from walking into the Hall of Shadows on his own.

But as she spoke, he knew she wouldn't. He knew he couldn't ask. He let silence hang between them as he reined in the mess of feelings that he'd spilled over her shoulder. Forced himself to breathe normally, even as hitches of breath snuck in alongside errant sobs and whimpers.

Their next steps were so, terribly, impossibly grim.

He listened, but he didn't speak. Didn't want to risk words anymore, didn't want to spoil what would be the last tender moments he could spend with someone that he'd classified as kin. It was a fragile, liminal moment in their turbulent lives.

"Have a meeting soon," he murmured.