[ Ilias sighs, stretching shoulder and elbow into the vacated space. He does rather prefer fucking to talking about his problems. If distraction was an effective alternative, if the subject weren't already pressing into every corner of his mind, he might not have brought it up at all.

But he did bring it up, and not for nothing. He's never known Isaac to give a straight answer; equally important, then, the route he chooses to take. ]

He works with Lady Asgard. [ the shape of a gap, to be filled as he collects his own thoughts in turn. ] There are reports sometimes, of his missions. He minds the archives still. Helps with the horse, when he thinks I'm not looking. He sketches.

[ None of it the point. Lips press flat; eyes find the ceiling. ]

I do not think he's hurt anyone since he arrived here. [ Well— ] Not anyone he wasn't meant to. Not outside of extraordinary circumstances.