It doesn't matter. [ Even with the sharp edge they carry, his words come out blunt, whittled, his desperation more a plea than it can work itself into being dismissive. Don't ask me. He hates lying, but the truth is harder to say, even as a yes or a no; he'd rather Inigo come to his own conclusions than confirm anything at all.

Still, revealing this much makes it easier to push on, to ignore the question being asked and to get back to the task. ]

If you're going through with it, that's the risk, so - let me help you. You said you wanted me to help. I'll help.

[ That much he'll do. That much he can give. ]