hopepainandshit | TLV: IC Inbox

"She was alright when you found her, wasn't she?" It's as much clarity as a question, and he stays very firmly seated so Corvo doesn't feel like he's being chased down for it, but he does turn in his seat to keep watching him. "They only held her there. She's too important to risk something actually happening to her."

It's the principle of it, not the act itself. "Yes, she was safe," he answers, but it doesn't mean finding her in that room at the top of the stairs was any easier. Or was any less horrifying.

"It doesn't matter. They killed her mother in front of her and then kidnapped her. I was angry."

"You were reckless. You didn't care about collateral. You didn't think about how at any point they could have caught on to what you were doing and killed her to make you stop, because you were decimating their numbers."

He looks back at Corvo. "How many people were you killing in front of Emily? How much blood is on her hands because her father and protector was killing everyone for her?"

Je flinches this tome, each word coming a blow at him. One at a time, they strike him with precision, and all he can do is sit and take it. Richter's right, and Corvo can feel the blood, tacky and warm on his hands.

He stays silent, hating himself as he stares blankly at the wall.

Richter gives him a minute of silence to breathe. To grieve his mistakes in silence.

"I think the part that made you an inmate," he says quietly. "Is when you stopped being a protector, and started being a killer."

There's a stillness to him now as his shoulders sink with a released breath.

Samuel had been right. The Loyalists had twisted him, and he allowed it to happen. He can't take that back,
as much as he wants to. And thinking about Emily is like getting too close to a hot stove. He can't bring himself to burn his hand quite yet.

"I think we're done here," he tells him instead, but there's no steel to it. He needs time to think, to drink, to sit and hate himself a while.

Richter nods, and stands as well.

And he pulls out his warden knife, and offers the hilt to Corvo.

"Go have a drink, if you need it." That was a lot, to process. Even he could see that. Boy that he is.

He takes it from him and tucks it away, not even bothering to say anything else, lest he fall apart at the seams.

Richter and the file get a single look and he disappears out the door.

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