[Oh, he winces at that—I'm not interested in being the way you punish yourself. Shit, she didn't have to go that hard. Kadoc hasn't felt this Seen in a while. But that's her skill, isn't it? This worthless faux-mage who'd managed to survive everything. Kadoc had gotten to see her method and her madness firsthand, and he'd seen enough to know that her ability to truly see people and to cut to the heart of matters, facing them down just this firmly, must have been paramount to her victory. It sure wasn't her magecraft or her physical abilities.]

Dammit.

[He lets out a breath, brushing his hair back.

But despite himself, he feels a little better. It's more comfortable in its deep discomfort. Being seen through and picked at, not greeted with gratitude. Some tension, just a little, goes out of his shoulders.]

You're no pacifist, and not just 'cuz you aimed straight for the heart with that. Not that you're wrong. You've got at least some of me figured out, sure. But I'm not making any assumptions I don't think are reasonable. I've got no idea why you wouldn't want a go at me after all I've put you and your people through. I just can't wrap my head around that. So maybe you've got a thumb on my pulse more than I've got on yours. . . . Embarrassing. But I should've expected it.