Masozi has, at this point, gone past terror and past grief and he’s lost in the unexplored no man’s land on the other side of those. He has no words for what he’s feeling.

Which isn’t quite the same thing as not feeling anything. 

The room and the people in it feel very far away, as though he’s watching this happen from somewhere that isn’t, quite, here. 

He wonders, vaguely and without heat, what Lan Xichen must be thinking right now. If he’s angry. If he regrets the (pointless, wasted) ((precious and sacred)) comfort he tried to offer, before.