"He's had enough chances," he murmurs, and all at once he decides that he's not going to tell her about the first time, about being pinned against the wall and thinking that he might actually be seconds from death and wanting it, hungering for it, because at least then he'd be able to rest and things would be ultimately simple again. He's not going to tell her that. Not now.

Not least because now he's pretty sure death isn't that simple anyway.

He looks over at her again, head slightly tilted, curious. "Do you trust me?"