The problem is that Hanzo is well aware of what it is like to be a Magister. He had worn that mantle for long enough for it to become a crown of thorns. It had torn into him and he had loathed himself - why run otherwise? He had abandoned so much because of his own self-loathing, self-hatred, and it sinks around him like a familiar, dangerous cloak even now. It makes him feel nauseated just to think of it.

"I see." Atticus Vedici. Hanzo knows his name - how could he not, when he had been one of their circle, even for a brief time? It doesn't surprise him that he found his own escape and left anyone with him to die in his wake; self-preservation is the most important thing when it comes to Tevinter survival. Tangled up with an apprenticeship that turned into a trap. Hanzo can understand. He would be in the same position if anyone in the Inquisition linked him to the Venatori Shimadas moving now.

"You will not touch them. No one here will touch any of them." Hanzo reaches out and grabs his bow, stroking his fingers over the wood. Honour. Respect. Esteem. Knowing and doing what is right. They burn under his touch and he breathes out a sharp little noise, bowing his head. "I will find a way to fix this. I will not let them die because of some Tevinter arrogance."