Navigating his duties has never entirely stopped feeling like walking a razor edge, but he hasn't felt this close to it in a long time. He can feel the way Neal stiffens as he comes back to himself and realises - recognises? - who they're talking to.

He was ready to take the question at face value, to avoid asking why a casual stroll required armour, to pretend there's real trust between them.

Usually, he'd do that anyway. He's too tired to get in useless arguments at this point, too adept at ignoring the righteous indignation that flares hot in his chest. Except - he'd felt so much younger, for a moment. He can almost hear Evandrin murmuring that he understands, almost see that proud, exasperated smile -

"If that's how you dismiss victims, I can see why Findras keeps you on the edges of the city."