As Glacius puts a hand on his shoulder and mentions that Carlisle has something he'd like to talk about, the clergyman shoots his partner a look of absolute venom that says that no, he does not have anything he wants to talk about. Ever. Certainly not with Kate, and not about phylacteries, or about her prying into his affairs, or about her continued refusal to acknowledge his own agency regarding his life. Good intentions or not, this is not the first time she has done this to him; he doubts it will be the last. It would be far easier to take it to the grave with him than to argue.

But Glacius would not have it the easy way; he would have it the right way, with both of his friends coming to some sort of an understanding rather than letting his partner stew in his own ire and bitterness any longer. He is of a stronger constitution than Carlisle, who has to resist the urge to wrest himself from Glacius' reassuring grasp so that he can storm away, delaying this conversation further.

"You had no right, Kate," he mumbles finally, lodging his gaze on the ground. It's better there than focused on her or his partner.