[Reaper watched the little show, and a part of him was surprised - and pleased - that Lance willingly made the journey up to where he was. They were generally not in close proximity with each other willingly after all. Perhaps more so in recent times thanks to memory loss and fighting and all that nonsense, but here they were.

At the sight of the mask, Wraith materialized to pick it out of the air, wing tips brushing Lance's cheeks as the peacock twisted in the air to come and land on his shoulder. He reached up to take the mask from his Omen, turning it over in his hands.]

This wasn't your trophy. [Then he offered it back to Lance.] It's yours. You earned it fair and square in combat. You took control of yourself and your life back from me in that moment. [Which had always been the point of pushing Lance in the first place.] If you don't want it, fine.