[ with her reaction to the doll, he raises a brow with a hint of faux offensive as if to voice a silent ouch at her brutal honesty, but when his lips lift into something of a subtle smile, it's evident enough that he's more endeared by the commentary than bothered.

taking the cigar back from her, he brings it back up to his own mouth, taking a series of puffs to let the smoke envelop him again, sharing in the heat that burned past her own lips.

in light of her question, he knows there's the simple answer and the more complex one, or even the absence of one entirely since it seems asked more in casualness than anything invasive. but as his eyes watch the working of her fingers, more skilled at the craft than he had been, even with its small imperfections, he decides there's no harm in providing her with something. ]

They ... were all killed. [ he speaks it quietly, though he doesn't draw his eyes away, as if he were simply willing himself to talk of it more calmly than the subject would suggest. ] If it were a regular fight, they'd have had a chance, but — a virus was implanted in their heads. Made them all turn on each other. No Envoy intuition could fight against that.

[ he sighs, breathing the smoke coming off the burnt end of the cigar. ] I was the only one who didn't get caught. [ the last envoy. ]