"I'm a busybody," Palamedes offers, without humor. This is plain and simple fact, actually, he cannot help himself. He holds up fingers to count off the options: "I've been dead for five weeks and I need something to do. I don't meet many people like you, and you seem more interested in her than me, so I'm leaning in. Take your pick; I'll make a case for whatever."

He shrugs; he considers the tea tray and then he sits back, leaving it alone. It isn't a matter of trust— genuinely, that's a nonstarter, there is none and so why bother pretending he's considering it— but he's decided that, for the time being, the best move in Lyctor games is not to play. He's not thirsty, anyway.

Belatedly, he holds up another finger for his count. "She's my friend. I have a vested interest in my friends."

Friends being approached by Lyctors, specifically, he doesn't add; it's implied in the pause before he decides yes, those will do, those are the top reasons. His hand drops back to his lap.

"If you were planning to tell me to eat shit, I'd have figured we'd be there by now."