"You're not that foolish." Hanzo shakes his head. He rubs the heel of his palm into his eyes before he breathes out. Nodding to the pillows, a safer place to sit, he settles down by the door, his bow at his side. Benedict can try and escape, he thinks, but it will not be easy; Hanzo is older, true, but he is fast. Very fast. "The slavers. The mark. Why you are so afraid."