A wince as he listens, and Benedict maintains his silence, letting Gabranth take his time and come to the conclusion as he will. It's lucky, he thinks, that he has yet to kill anyone, let alone be made to kill them.

What rings familiar is the sense of trust misplaced, faith held in the person who guides one's hand and abuses its works.

"I'm sorry." He knows, in a similar position, he would have acted similarly. Some people are born to be followers.