And that, Tenebrae thought grimly, was another thing he should have expected. Maybe he had. But he'd still hoped that a threat of more of the same pain on top of what Wreath had already endured would be enough to make the man reconsider.

It wasn't.

And Tenebrae was forced to wonder - what did Solomon care so much about, within the space of three days, that he was willing to protect it with his life? With more than just his life?

It should have been the Temple. It should have been his faith. It should have been what he'd spent all of his life protecting before. Tenebrae's fist reclenched in his pocket, and this time he had to force the smile onto his face. "You're a strong man, Cleric Wreath. Whatever this is, whatever changed you like this, I take comfort in the fact that you're the only one I'll ever have to worry about. It's foolhardy strength, but it's a strength I doubt many others have."

It was a genuine compliment, too. Tenebrae rarely said things he didn't mean without a purpose. There was just not a shred of warmth behind it, not even the false promising warmth of an end to the pain. He hadn't planned on stopping, of course, as Wreath correctly guessed. But Tenebrae wouldn't have seen anything wrong with ordering Cirurgie to use painkillers this time. If Solomon had just cooperated now of his own free will, like he'd end up doing no matter what he thought or insisted, he could have spared himself what would happen next. He could have saved himself. It was sad, really. Solomon pitied him? Tenebrae very nearly pitied Wreath.

He nodded, once again, to Cirurgie. "The other one, please. Same as before. Spare no pain."