[If Palamedes catches that look (he does) then he studiously pretends not to, unwilling to pick at the scab of what that look might want to ask him. Part of him already wants to stop in the middle of this imaginary hallway and shout that of course it's horrible, it's world-shattering and lonely and empty to lose the people he loves, more than any terrible deed that could have been done to him. Of course it's worse to go on. But hypocritically he left Camilla, acted on a reckless high of righteous fury and desperation, and after eight months and change, well — one has time to think about the apologies they owe, and to whom, and for what.

And Paul doesn't know all the things Palamedes has done, besides, and maybe one day he'll tell him this one; but for now there's a thick line drawn around some things he's done, to keep him from allowing himself a crumb of guilt that will topple any focus he will ever have again.

So Paul can look at him like that if he likes; he's welcome to his assumptions. Palamedes tsks at the state of his hand as he takes it and turns it over to see the crystalline bruising. Delicately. Still, this is already enough to be a concern, Paul.]

I want you to be able to use your hands. [...And,] I didn't think something like this would follow someone into a purely psychological space.

[That's some scary attention to detail, and another pin in the board for how the rules (if there are any) actually work around here. Moreover, it means he will have to go find Paul as soon as they leave this false Canaan House, before his hands become completely useless.]

Don't be so eager to go under the knife. It's only in your hands?