There's a look of horror on her face for a brief moment before she lets go of his chest and turns away. Her stomach churns, and the urge to be sick is intense. They took his tongue. They mangled him, tortured him, made him into an avox.

She clamps a hand over her mouth, fighting back the urge to throw up. It's not fair. It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair. Why him? She was the one in jail. She was the one they broke out. Why single him out?

She knows why, of course. Because it was his idea. Because he's violent, uncontrollable. And not he's not. Now, he won't plot against them. He won't do anything except what they tell him to do.

The sickness doesn't pass, but it does ease--enough that she can lower her hand back down. She turns back to face him. Her chest still aches, but not as badly as it did before. There's something else there now, amid the grief and horror. Something brighter. Something with a purpose.

"Kurloz..." she addresses him quietly, trying to keep her voice level, but gentle. She knows that she has to be careful about the words she says now. She doesn't want to order him to do something that he wouldn't want to do. "...If I asked you to stay with me... Would you want that? Just a yes or no is okay."