It is impossible not to be curious about my death. But it's equally impossible to ask about, when he knows her so distantly, when her manner is so contained, and when he does not want to be skewered by her devoted ghost, no matter how forthcoming she's being.

So he doesn't ask. The look of faint horror he turns on the fire-stained obelisk isn't even a silent question. It's a silent assumption. He usually tries harder not to make those.