"Well, we knew that." Dexter managed a watery grin and started to relax a little. The tears weren't exactly gone, locked in his throat as they were, but at least he didn't feel like he was about to shatter at any moment. The smile dropped a moment later, but Dexter's gaze didn't move. For once, he was serious, serious and not exactly earnest but firm.

"I wanted to say something half the time. Descry said no. Asked me to trust him. Asked me to trust you. He said the man he'd seen in Ghastly's memories did deserve that chance. He was right. It took me a while to get used to it, but he was right. That's when I stopped standing outside Corrival's tent."

They'd tried to stack the deck in his favour, to use Ghastly's analogy. Stacked it without quite knowing for sure whether they needed to, or whether they should. Dexter had wanted to not believe enough that he was willing to follow Descry's lead.

At Ghastly's yelp the Adept turned, raised an eyebrow, and deliberately wagged a finger at him. "That's what you get for trying to take on your whole shop, Ghastly. I know you're a big bad boxer and all, but really, you're gonna force us to stage an intervention to pop that swelled head. I don't want to pop your head, Ghastly. I don't want my suit ruined by Ghastly-brains if I can't get a properly-tailored replacement."