The Tir playbook sounds terribly effective. Scared people are prone to rushing to stupid decisions, Cain knows this, and it makes them very susceptible to just about anybody to come along with all the answers, and a calm voice that says look, this is how we're going to handle it.

But feeling bad for misleading someone with the selective truth, and leaving implication to do the rest? Never. There's a rush of gratification when Saturday immediately softens, and he knows he took the right decision.

He nods soberly, keeping his satisfaction out of his face, and he doesn't correct her assumption. "It's not an experience I like to talk much about," he says, which is true. "The world of Sanguia was cleansed, in the end. It was luck, and the Emperor's will that I managed to get out of it in more or less one piece, save for some dings and scratches here and there, which is... far more fortunate of a fate than the other poor souls that couldn't be saved."

The flayed skins on the ramparts were the subject of reoccurring dreams too often for his liking. This time, he's not pretending all too much when he breathes in, seeming to subtly gather himself, then looks at her. "It's a rather uncomfortable subject," he admits, with a slightly strained smile.