He asked it of me. Reparations for...quite a few actions of his. Most I knew of. Apparently that was not the case.

[For a moment he looked and sounded exactly as he was that night. Weary. Faintly retched. Ill for what his hands had done. But only a moment did the mask slip before it is smoothed into something wry and faintly amused.]

No doubt he will return in a week and complain that I was too slow about it.