Where did that come from. It's like he turned around and the kid's an entirely different person again. Part of him is tempted to shake him until a more agreeable personality comes out. Part of him is proud. "You think I should feel guilty about trading one man to save a city?"

Theron hesitates, but his voice is quiet and steady when he answers. "Maybe not. But if you don't—if trading me away doesn't cost you anything, not even guilt—then it means you've already decided I'm not a person. Just something useful. Something convenient." He pauses, searching Kirill's face carefully. "I don't know if that's supposed to make me feel better, or you."

"If the Judge wants to say I'm a monster she's surely got plenty of ammunition." Kirill drains his glass. "I still think a woman'd do you good. You want someone to be nice to you, tell you you're lovely and special and wonderful. I know you said this isn't about comfort, but - not much it doesn't help with."

Theron studies Kirill silently for a long moment, a slow, rueful smile forming despite himself. "I appreciate the thought," he says quietly, pushing away a tangle of conflicting emotions. "But if someone does tell me those things, I'd rather it be because they believe it—not because you paid them."

He picks up his glass, turning it thoughtfully between his fingers. "Besides, comfort isn't what I need right now. What I need is to figure out how to protect myself. Even if you're willing to trade me, that doesn't mean I have to make it easy."

He glances up again, meeting Kirill's gaze steadily. "I have to find out what choices I actually have. And I think it's about time I start looking."

"You're doing the thing again."

"What thing?"

"The - grandiosity. Making your sentences into speeches. Also when you finish them you kind of - your eyes glaze over -"

Theron freezes, suddenly self-conscious. He drops his gaze, embarrassment evident in the tightening of his shoulders. "I didn't realize I was doing that," he murmurs, voice softer, less certain. "It just—comes out that way."

He takes a careful breath, visibly struggling with something uncomfortable. "I think—I think when I'm not answering questions directly, it's like my thoughts don't quite stay together. So I...I turn them into speeches, because it makes them feel clearer. Realer."

"What do you do when I'm not in the room, just stare at the wall?"

Theron looks away, embarrassment giving way to genuine discomfort. "Sometimes," he admits softly. "Or I'll go through notes, over and over. When you're not here to ask questions—when nobody's here—it's like I don't even know how to start thinking."

"Well, all right, what we should do is get you a dog, train it to jog you out of it. I know a guy might have a Dwellersund he'd sell me."

Theron looks back at Kirill uncertainly, clearly torn between embarrassment and curiosity. "A dog," he repeats quietly, turning the idea over. "You think it'd really help—just having something else alive around?"

"It's not like I've treated a fae curse before. But I notice - it seems like it might be crafted to keep you - docile? You always answer questions. You're always very focused, when i'm asking them. You don't walk away, even when you're angry, and when no one's around, you're just ....waiting."

Theron stays quiet for a moment, absorbing Kirill’s words. A fae curse—Kirill had called it that before, but Theron hadn't fully understood, hadn't believed it. Now the description fits uncomfortably well. Always answering. Always waiting. Docile.

"I didn't really understand what you meant before," he says, voice low. "But you're right. When someone asks a question, I can't refuse to answer. It's not even a choice. And when I'm alone, it's worse. I'm just waiting, like a tool put aside until it's needed."

He meets Kirill's eyes, embarrassment and determination mixing in his expression. "If a dog can help—if something else alive could break that waiting—then let's try it. Curse or not, I can't live like this."

"Well now I'm curious what happens if you try not answering a question. But if you don't want to try that we can go get a dog. ...I will go get a dog. We don't want Razmir's spies to see you."

Theron tenses visibly at the thought, his expression cautious. "I don't think I could refuse even if I tried," he admits. "But—I'm curious too. Maybe once we have the dog. If it goes badly, at least someone else will be around. 

And Kirill—thank you. For helping me with this."