He nods mutely to this, head still low and shoulders rounded. Fine job you did there, Myrobalan. Some agent of the Inquisition you are--

He cuts the thought off before it can get too far, rests a hand on Garahel's head to distract himself from it. There's no advantage in thinking that way.

(It still gnaws at the edges of his mind like a demon, persistent and unrelenting, when he sends Garahel back to her an hour later.)