I have already lost everyone. And now, as I near the end of my miserable existence, I would give literally anything to not lose what life I have eked out in these final years. To not lose Glacius, to not lose Miss Rey, to not lose you.

[Ink drips heavily from his eye, escaping the crevices between his teeth; he wipes it onto his sleeve as usual, the stains he has to wash out more numerous every day. There is only so much he can do about them -- only so much he can do at all.]

Fine. Fine then. [Ink smears across his cheek as he drags his sleeve along it.] Risk your life on some heroic aspiration of saving others... [Like his father, like his uncles, like so many lost to him.] But should you ever act as though your survival and you aren't important ever again, so help me I will force the thought into your head until you believe it.

[He said he'd give anything to keep what he has, and if that means damning himself, then so be it. Maybe he'll rethink that later, but as he's standing there, the storm outside as while as that in his chest, ink pouring from him like old wounds reopening, that's as much a threat as it is a promise.]